“I think Paul has some scheme in his head,” said M. N——.
Monsieur and Madame de Gandelau looked at each other, smiling.
“What is in the wind, then,” said Madame Marie; “a conspiracy?”
“Perhaps,” replied Madame de Gandelau; “but let us allow him the pleasure of carrying it out.”
“Conspire, dearest mother! I will help you with all my heart,” said Madame de N——, with a smile that expressed archness as well as affection.
They could say nothing for the moment of the projected excursion, for they were on the point of betraying themselves. Madame de Gandelau wished her daughter to take some rest after her journey. M. N—— asked leave to despatch some letters that required immediate attention, and silence reigned again in the château. The day was hot, and nothing was heard but the buzzing of insects on the lawns. Paul, however, could not keep quiet.
“You are not a diplomatist yet,” his cousin said to him. “Do, my dear fellow, remain still. There’s nobody but you stirring in the house. You will let out the secret if you go on in this way. Go to your room, take a book—a dull one; you will get to sleep, and the time will pass away.”
“But what about all the people who have been invited and are waiting down at the house?”
“Ah!—yes—true. Well, mount your pony, go to the house and tell all the guests to admire the wonders of the new domain and to have patience. Say that Madame Marie is a little fatigued, and that she will not be able to have the pleasure of meeting them till the afternoon. Then return.”
Paul did not allow this to be repeated, so impossible did rest seem to him. He would have given at this moment ten years of his life to make his sister resolve to get into the carriage.