"No, monsieur, madame did not rise until half-past twelve."
"Another ride postponed!" muttered M. de Luceval, stamping his foot impatiently.
"But madame is dressed now, of course?" he said aloud.
"Oh, no, monsieur; madame is still in her dressing-gown. Madame told me she had no intention of going out to-day."
"Where is she?" demanded M. de Luceval, with another impatient stamp of the foot; "where is she?"
"In her boudoir, monsieur."
A few seconds afterwards M. de Luceval burst noisily into the room where his pretty wife lay stretched out in her armchair, too comfortable to even turn her head to see who the intruder was.
"Really, Florence, this is intolerable!" exclaimed M. de Luceval.
"What, my dear?" the lady asked, languidly, without moving, and with her eyes still fixed on the garden.
"You ask me that, when you know that we were to go out together at two o'clock!"