“And she?”
“She adores Jacques.”
“Well. And did you not also tell me that the wedding-day was fixed?”
“Yes, three days ago.”
“Has Jacques written to you about the matter?”
“An excellent letter.”
“In which he tells you he is coming up?”
“Yes: he wanted to purchase the wedding-presents himself.” With a gesture of magnificent indifference the marquis tapped the top of his snuffbox, and said,—
“And you think a boy like our Jacques, a Boiscoran, in love, and beloved, who is about to be married, and has his head full of wedding-presents, could have committed such a horrible crime? Such things are not worth discussing, and, with your leave, I shall return to my occupation.”
If doubt is contagious, confidence is still more so. Gradually the marchioness felt reassured by the perfect assurance of her husband. The blood came back to her cheeks; and smiles reappeared on pale lips. She said in a stronger voice,—