"Do you mean to say, monsieur—?"
"That I have never had the honour of seeing Madame d'Infreville in my house."
"But that is impossible, monsieur. My wife is with your wife almost constantly."
"But I repeat that I have never seen Madame d'Infreville in my house, monsieur."
"Never?" exclaimed Valentine's husband, so completely stupefied that M. de Luceval gazed at him in astonishment, and said:
"So, as I remarked a short time ago, there must be some mistake in regard to the name, as you tell me that your wife visits my wife every day."
M. d'Infreville's face had become livid. Big drops of sweat stood out upon his forehead, and a bitter smile contracted his bluish lips, but controlling himself,—for he was resolved to act the part of a gentleman in the presence of this stranger,—he responded in a sardonic tone:
"Fortunately, all this is between husbands, my dear sir; and we ought to feel a little compassion for each other, for, after all, each has his turn at it, as one never knows what may happen."
"What do you mean, monsieur?"
"Ah, my vague distrust was only too well founded," murmured M. d'Infreville, in a sort of sullen rage. "Why did I not discover the truth sooner? Oh, these women, these miserable women!"