The young girl, looking very modest, continued drawing her needle with exemplary application. A ray of sunshine, coming from over a neighboring roof, enlivened the little room, gilded this nook of innocence, into which the noise of the passing vehicles did not even penetrate. All the poetry of Bachelard’s nature was stirred.
“May God bless you, Monsieur Narcisse!” said aunt Menu to him as she saw him to the door. “I am more easy now. Only listen to the dictates of your heart, for it will inspire you.”
The driver had again fallen asleep, and he grumbled when the uncle gave him Monsieur Desmarquay’s address in the Rue Saint-Lazare. No doubt the horse was asleep also, for it required quite a hail of blows to get him to move. At length the cab rolled painfully along.
“It’s hard all the same,” resumed the uncle, after a pause. “You can’t imagine the effect it had on me when I saw Gueulin in his shirt. No; one must have gone through such a thing to understand it.”
And he went on, entering into every detail, without noticing Auguste’s increasing uneasiness. At length the latter, feeling his position becoming falser and falser, told him why he was in such a hurry to find Duveyrier.
“Berthe with that counter-jumper!” cried the uncle. “You astonish me, sir!”
And it seemed that his astonishment was especially on account of his niece’s choice. However, after a little reflection, he became very indignant. His sister Eléonore had a great deal to reproach herself with. He would have nothing more to do with the family. Of course, he was not going to mix himself up with the duel; but he considered it indispensable.
“Thus, just now, when I saw Fifi with a man, my first thought was to murder every one. If the same thing should ever happen to you——-”
A painful start of Auguste’s caused him to interrupt himself.
“Ah! true, I was forgetting. My story does not interest you.”