“Yes, indeed, Léon, I think with you. And with your rod—but where is your rod?”
“Left with my basket. Your fault—you would not wait.”
She half paused.
“Oh, but I am sorry, very sorry! Your new rod! Will it not be hurt?”
“It is extremely probable that old Antoine will find an excellent opportunity for exercising his hereditary inclinations.”
She slipped her hand in his and repeated, regretfully: “I am very sorry! It was so good of you to let everything go that you might come with me, for I am terribly frightened. Where can he have hidden himself?”
“My dear child, you are becoming fussy; and if you don’t check yourself, you will develop lines in your pretty face which I should find unendurable. Raoul is perfectly safe.”
“Do you think so! But—the river?”
“The river—bah!”
M. de Beaudrillart was too sweet-tempered to be annoyed with his wife for her fears, but he was conscious of a failure in the perfect sympathy to which he was accustomed. When his fishing happened to be unsuccessful, Nathalie was alert to discover the reasons for failure, and never by awkward slip set it down to want of skill. If such a thought knocked at his own mind, her tender touch managed to shut the door upon the unwelcome intruder. No matter what other affairs occupied her, they were laid aside to give him her undivided attention, and—what was more—to be grateful to him for asking it. Perhaps he chose to be unaware of the isolated position she occupied in the household, since it had this advantage for him, that with one other he absorbed the warm affections which were strong enough to flow far and wide, could they have found space. He liked the concentration. Now, however, he felt she had not so much as listened; for, when he had finished his relation of a trout which had been so ill-behaved as to get away, instead of her usual commiseration, Nathalie did not even utter a remark. Her eyes were fixed painfully upon the river, which raced along—iron-grey in colour, except where the shallows broke it into bubbles—with its fringe of broad-leaved grasses, burdocks, and flags, a vivid green line in the midst of a somewhat dried-up country. He would have preferred a more leisurely stroll, but his wife’s impatience kept her a pace or two in advance, so that he was forced to exert himself in order to keep up with her light and swift steps. His annoyance took refuge in silence, which she in her anxious absorption did not notice.