"Refused what?" said Sophie to her husband, more and more disquieted. "What does he mean, Charles?"
"It is not necessary to mention it, my dear Sophie."
"I think, on the contrary," replied Pascal, "that it would be well to tell your wife, my dear Dutertre, and have her opinion."
"Sir!" exclaimed Dutertre, clasping his hands in dismay.
"Come! is it not a marriage of love?" said Pascal, "you do not have any secrets from each other!"
"Charles, I beseech you, explain to me the meaning of all this. Ah, I saw plainly enough that you were suffering. Monsieur, has anything happened between you and Charles?" said she to Pascal, in a tone of entreaty. "I implore you to tell me."
"My God! a very simple thing happened. You can judge of it yourself, madame—"
"Monsieur!" cried Dutertre, "in the name of the gratitude we owe you, in the name of pity, not one word more, I beseech you, for I can never believe that you will persist in your resolution. And then, what good does it do to torture my wife with needless alarm?"
Then, turning to Madame Dutertre, he said:
"Compose yourself, Sophie, I beg you."