"We will not speak of that," she said, as though it were a disagreeable subject.
"No."
Then, without warning, his jarring, crashing laughter filled the room again for a moment, and she started as she heard it, and looked round nervously.
"I really wish you would not laugh in that way," she said, with a frown.
"There is nothing to laugh at, I assure you."
"I did not know that I laughed," said Macomer, indifferently. "That is the second time in a quarter of an hour. How odd it would be if I were to laugh unconsciously in that way when—" He seemed to check the words that were coming.
"When, for instance?" asked Matilde, not guessing what was passing in his mind.
"At the funeral," he answered shortly. Matilde started again, and looked at him anxiously. She had resumed her seat after she had hidden the key, but she now rose and went to him. He was still standing before the window, though he had finished his cigarette and had thrown away the end of it. She stood before him a moment before she spoke, fixing her eyes severely on his face.
"Control yourself!" she said sternly. "I understand that you are nervous and over-strained. That is no reason for behaving like a fool."
He also paused an instant before speaking. Then, all at once, his features assumed an expression of docility, not at all natural to him.
"Yes," he answered, "I will try. I think you are quite right. I really am very much over-strained in these days."