"But, monsieur, it is an unworthy action that you ask me to do, think of it."
At this moment was heard the sweet ringing laughter of Sophie, who was approaching the parlour.
"Ah, monsieur," said her husband, "not a word of this before my wife, because it may not be your final resolve. I hope that—"
Charles Dutertre could not finish, because Sophie had entered the parlour.
The unhappy man could only make a supplicating gesture to Pascal, who responded to it by a sign of sympathetic intelligence.
CHAPTER VIII.
When Sophie Dutertre entered the parlour, where were seated her husband and M. Pascal, the gracious countenance of the young woman, more flushed than usual, the light throbbing of her bosom, and her moist eyes, all testified to a recent fit of hilarious laughter.
"Ah, ah, Madame Dutertre!" said M. Pascal, cheerfully. "I heard you distinctly; you were laughing like a lunatic."
Then, turning to Dutertre, who was trying to hide his intense distress and to hold on to a last hope, he said:
"How gay happiness makes these young women! Nothing like the sight of them puts joy in the heart, does it, my brave Dutertre?"