“You are going!” Zozé exclaimed, in a tone of well-simulated wonder.
M. Raindal recollected somewhat the words that had to be used.
“Excuse my rudeness, my bad temper.... I received this morning from Langrune such a pressing letter that I must give in to the ladies’ wish.... They claim me over there and I am going.... Rest assured that I am very sorry!”
There was a pause. Zozé thought it out. Now that she was sure he was leaving, why should she not preserve her assumed innocence, the persistence of which could but draw off his suspicions? It was with an imperceptible smile that she said:
“I believe you, dear master, although you surprise me.”
“I ... surprise you, dear madame?” M. Raindal asked sullenly, his heart beating more rapidly.
“You see, I was downstairs this morning when the postman came.... He gave me all the mail and there was no letter for you!”
M. Raindal preserved a challenging silence, disdaining to clear himself, not denying his deception.
“Come, dear master!” Zozé went on gently. “Since there was no letter, what is it that makes you leave us? Has anyone upset you? Have we hurt your feelings unwittingly? Please, tell me who it is, I beg you.”
Her eyes looked all around, as if she were trying to discover the culprit, the naughty, wicked unknown one who had upset her dear master. M. Raindal watched her for an instant, his lips convulsed with disgust.