“If you will be so good,” she said, stiffly, and Nathalie, glad of an opportunity of pleasing her sister-in-law, ran lightly up the stone staircase to the balcony which clung to an angle of the house. She pushed open the window, meaning to go in search of her husband, but to her surprise saw him standing in the room with his back towards her, his head bent, and his hand on the table. He did not even turn round as she came in, and she rallied him upon his preoccupation.
“Come back from your thoughts, for I am the bearer of a very important request from Félicie.”
He turned, with an attempt at a laugh, but the laugh was so forced that it frightened her.
“Léon! What is it? Has anything happened Raoul?”
“Happened! Foolish child, what should happen? Raoul is with his grandmother. I came here because—because it was the shortest way to the terrace, and then—well, then, I imagine I fell into a dream.”
She was standing in front of him, her hands on his shoulders, her steadfast eyes fastened upon his face. She was no longer frightened, but she was uneasy, though she smiled.
“No, my friend. You came here because it was the shortest way to your wife, and because you have something on your mind which you desire to share with her.”
A change swept over his face, and for an instant, written there, she saw misery, longing, and hunted fear. The next moment they had vanished, and he answered, with his usual lightness:
“Now it is you who dream. Do you not know that I avoid bringing worries to you, who represent my sunshine?”
“If there is any use in sunshine it is to disperse clouds,” she answered, gravely. He looked down, and said, impatiently: