Moreover, he entertained the strangest illusions. Because for forty-eight hours he had acted the part of a good-natured man, because one Sunday he had taken his wife and daughter out riding in the Bois de Vincennes, because he had given Maxence a hundred-franc note, he imagined that it was all over, that the past was obliterated, forgotten, and forgiven.
And, drawing Gilberte upon his knees,
“Well, daughter,” he said, “you see that I don’t importune you any more, and I leave you quite free. I am more reasonable than you are.”
But on the other hand, and according to an expression which escaped him later, he tried to turn the enemy.
He did every thing in his power to spread in the neighborhood the rumor of Mlle. Gilberte’s marriage with a financier of colossal wealth,—that elegant young man who came in a coupe with two horses. Mme. Favoral could not enter a shop without being covertly complimented upon having found such a magnificent establishment for her daughter.
Loud, indeed, must have been the gossip; for its echo reached even the inattentive ears of the Signor Gismondo Pulei.
One day, suddenly interrupting his lesson,—“You are going to be married, signora?” he inquired.
Mlle. Gilberte started.
What the old Italian had heard, he would surely ere long repeat to Marius. It was therefore urgent to undeceive him.
“It is true,” she replied, “that something has been said about a marriage, dear maestro.”