"And now au revoir. Perhaps I shall not return alone."
But M. de Luceval shook his head gloomily, as Valentine, with a gesture of encouragement, started down a narrow footpath that led straight to the garden gate of the villa.
M. de Luceval, left alone, paced restlessly to and fro, turning every now and then, in spite of himself, to gaze at the pretty dwelling below. Suddenly he paused, his face turned livid, and his eyes gleamed like coals of fire. He had just seen, a little way from the hedge that surrounded the garden, a man clad in a white duck suit, and wearing a big straw hat. In another moment, this man had disappeared among the rocks that bordered the shore.
Running to the carriage, M. de Luceval drew out from under the seat, where he had concealed it from Madame d'Infreville's eyes, a box containing a pair of duelling pistols, and with this box in his hand started in pursuit of the man.
But before he had gone ten yards M. de Luceval paused, reflected a moment, then slowly returned to the carriage, and replaced the box, saying to himself:
"There will be time enough for that by and by. I will keep my oath unless rage and despair should carry me beyond all the bounds of reason and honour."
Then, with his eyes riveted upon the house, M. de Luceval, too, descended the path.
In the meantime, Valentine had reached the gate of the enclosure, and knocked.
A moment afterwards the gate opened, and a woman about fifty years of age, neatly dressed in the Provençal fashion, appeared.
On seeing her, Valentine could not conceal her astonishment.