Madame de Brévannes, wholly ignorant of her husband's fury, and still less able to comprehend his fancy for throwing open the windows in the month of January, was advancing towards the balcony, when M. de Brévannes turned sharply round, and, jerking the window-curtains back to their places, exclaimed,—
"So, madam, it is thus, then, you occupy your leisure hours while awaiting my return?"
"Indeed, Charles, I understand not what you mean."
"You do not? Ah, false woman, tell me why was the window of the first floor in the house facing this lighted up just now?"
"Just now?—the window?—in the opposite house?" repeated Bertha, with increasing surprise.
"Oh, you feign astonishment admirably, madam; but it will not do. Just this minute, some person opposite was attentively watching your window, but disappeared the instant I presented myself."
"Very probably, Charles. I know nothing about it: but why do you tell me of so trifling a circumstance?"
"Why?"
"Yes, I ask you again, why?"
"Because, doubtless there is a mutually good understanding between yourself and this person opposite, and that some disgraceful intrigue is carried on by means of signal-lights in your respective windows. I cease now to feel the smallest astonishment at your having kept watch to-night, instead of retiring to rest."