“Does he? I did not know that he said anything about the loan.”
“Oh, it is all mixed up,” said Léon, impatiently; “only there is no use in telling you, because you do not understand.”
“But, dear Léon, do you not think I could understand?” asked his wife, gently. “If I really do not, I think you would make me more useful by explaining it to me, and I would try very hard. Is there any point which might be more fully explained!”
He writhed uneasily in the chair, but the impulse to tell her was strong upon him, now that the lawyer’s letter had reduced him to helpless pulp. She waited, expectant of some detail, perhaps legal, which had been withheld from her.
“Well, you see,” he explained, running his hands again and again through his hair, “what was I to have done? Monsieur de Cadanet showed me the cheque done up, and then before my eyes directed it to that confounded villain. It was enough to make a man desperate—”
He stopped. Nathalie, all the blood out of her face, but fire in her eyes, had risen, and was staring down upon him.
“How can I explain to you if you look at me like that?” he said, pettishly. “You might guess what happened, and what ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have done, if they had had the chance. I had no thought of it till the thing was over, and I did not make any mystery about it, for I wrote and told the old count that I had taken the money as a loan. He had it all back again, with interest, and as for telling me that this scoundrel lost a penny by it—”
If she could have taken in these last words, the awful numbness in her heart might have yielded, but the first blow had stunned her, and she stood like a dead woman—blind, dumb, deaf. Once having broken the barrier, Léon found relief in rambling on, accusing Lemaire, excusing himself. A sigh broke from her at last, the sigh of returning consciousness, her heart sending it forth as a cry. Then she shivered violently, and became aware that her husband was speaking.
“Don’t, don’t!” she cried, thrusting out her hands.
“Don’t what?” he said, irritably. “Do you think it is agreeable for me to talk about it? I haven’t even told my mother, but you spoke as if you could help one out of the scrape, and now can only stand and stare.”