Léon turned his face to her, pleased as a child at praise, though he only said, “Ah?”
His spirits rose almost to their old level when they were in the train. He had a power which she envied, of letting himself be distracted by the events of the moment; and while, as the train neared Paris, a painful tension held her limbs in a vice, he might have been on an errand differing in no degree from one of every-day importance.
The train ran smoothly into the station as he laid down a newspaper with a remark on a scene in the Chambers. Standing on the platform, Nathalie recognised M. Rodoin. He came hastily towards them, and at the same moment she saw two men approach. M. Rodoin said, in a low tone: “There will be no open scandal. They know that you have come voluntarily, and we can all go together as far as the carriage. You have acted courageously, Monsieur de Beaudrillart, and I honour you. Trust to me to see to madame.”
Nathalie’s throat was parched, her head swam; but now, more than ever, she must call her fortitude to her aid. At the door of the carriage she kissed her husband, even smiled at him, though with quivering lips.
“God bless you, Léon; I shall be near.”
White, mute, confused, he stepped into the carriage; one man followed him, the other clambered to the box, and they rolled away.