"You've been helping yourself to some more?" she said interrogatively.
He raised his head in astonishment.
"Some more what?" he inquired.
"Oh! do not act the innocent," she continued; "you understand very well. But listen: I will not have you do it again, because it is no more yours than mine, and it upsets me to know that you touch it."
Habitually he avoided quarrels. Their life in common had become the mere obligatory contact of two beings bound one to the other, passing entire days without exchanging a word; and, henceforth, going and coming like indifferent and solitary strangers. So he refused to give any explanation, and contented himself with shrugging his shoulders.
But she became very excited. She meant to finish with the matter, with the question of this money hidden there, which had made her suffer since the day of the crime.
"I insist on you answering me!" she exclaimed. "Dare to say that you have not touched it!"
"What does it matter to you?" he asked.
"It matters to me, this much," she replied,—"that it makes me ill. Again to-day I was afraid. I could not remain here. Every time you go to that place I have horrible dreams three nights in succession. We never mention the subject. Then remain quiet, and do not force me to speak about it."
He contemplated her with his great staring eyes, and repeated in a weighty tone: