“What is the matter?”
“The matter is, that M. de Tregars is endeavoring to take an odious advantage of some incidents of our past life.”
“There’s woman’s exaggeration for you!” he said laughing.
And, holding out his hand to Marius,
“Let me make your peace—for you, my dear marquis,” he said: “that’s within the province of the husband.” But, instead of taking his extended hand, M. de Tregars stepped back.
“There is no more peace possible, sir, I am an enemy.”
“An enemy!” he repeated in a tone of surprise which was wonderfully well assumed, if it was not real.
“Yes,” interrupted the baroness; “and I must speak to you at once, Frederic. Come: M. de Tregars will wait for you.”
And she led her husband into the adjoining room, not without first casting upon Marius a look of burning and triumphant hatred.
Left alone, M. de Tregars sat down. Far from annoying him, this sudden intervention of the manager of the Mutual Credit seemed to him a stroke of fortune. It spared him an explanation more painful still than the first, and the unpleasant necessity of having to confound a villain by proving his infamy to him.