"I hope you will not," said Batiscombe boldly. She turned and looked at him again, with a little surprise in her face. Marcantonio came back,—it was only a step to his study.
"Here it is," said Marcantonio, sitting down. "He says he thinks that a day should do, if I could be with him all the time. You see, he is old and wishes to put his affairs in order."
"I cannot see"—began Leonora, but stopped.
"Enfin," said Marcantonio, "it might happen to any one, I should think."
"Let us hope it may happen to all of us," remarked Batiscombe, for the sake of saying something.
When it came to parting, Batiscombe made some polite remark about the pleasure he had enjoyed.
"When do you go?" he asked, as he shook hands with Marcantonio.
"I think we will go to-morrow night,—n'est-ce-pas, Léonore?" He turned to his wife, as though inquiring. She looked up from her seat in her deep, cane arm-chair.
"To-morrow night? Oh yes—one day is like another—let us go then to-morrow night."
She spoke indifferently enough, as was natural. Batiscombe supposed she meant to go. He took his leave with many wishes to his hosts for a pleasant journey.