Léon made a sign in the affirmative.
“I wish I had seen him,” mused his wife. “If you see a person you can judge so much better what he is like. And his face, when he caught sight of you, must have been a study.”
“He is a villain!” muttered the young baron, still pale.
“But so foolish a villain! Does he really suppose that any one will believe his story? Dear Léon, I do think you ought to put a stop to it at once, and as the man himself will not see you, send for Monsieur Rodoin, and desire him to take the necessary steps for bringing an action for libel, or for writing threatening letters to extort money, or whatever it is he has made himself subject to. You must feel that he deserves punishment, and you will be worried to death if this sort of annoyance goes on. Come, dear. You know that is Monsieur Rodoin’s own opinion. Be firm, and the silly plot will collapse.”
What burst from Léon was: “All that he says is a lie!”
“Who doubts it! But lies can’t be left to grow unmolested.”
“What proof can he have?”
“None, of course. I suppose he hopes some foolish trumped-up story will do instead; but you can’t pass it by. M. Rodoin said it had gone too far. The man has dared to speak of it.” Her voice dropped.
There was silence. Nathalie looked at him uneasily. She read weakness in the hesitation, and that dislike to facing what was painful which she knew to be part of his character. He said at last:
“It may cost a lot.”