Her face changed. Its lines unstiffened, and she laughed gayly.
“And this has been troubling you? Oh, Léon!” Something in her absolute faith affected M. de Beaudrillart strangely. His voice shook as he answered:
“In spite of the hard things you have been saying, you would not then credit it of your poor Léon?”
“Take care, monsieur! It shows me that my hard things are well justified, for if you had told me at once, I should have made you see the absurdity of suffering yourself to be annoyed by such an insignificant matter. This Monsieur Charles Lemaire—has he, then, taken leave of his senses?”
“He hates me.”
“Well, he must be at his wits’ end for a way of venting his spite. My friend, you are not seriously vexed? I can only laugh. Pray, does he inform you what was in this fabulous letter?”
Léon hesitated.
“A large cheque.”
“Better and better!” she cried, still laughing. “Robber! Ought I not to be terribly alarmed? How little I have known of your true character! Seriously, Léon, how have you answered this impertinent? Now that you have made me happy by admitting me to your confidence, I am never going to be shut out again. You will find that I must know all.”
His fingers drummed on the table with an uneasiness which in her new contentment she did not realise.