“Exactly, exactly!” exclaimed M. Georges, triumphantly. “That is what I thought.”
“That he took it!”
“As a jest, no doubt, and as a loan. The difference is immense. Immense!” he repeated, opening his arms. “And how noble of Monsieur Léon to admit it!”
“Ah,” said Félicie, relieved.
M. Georges was here called off by Raoul to superintend an imaginary bite. He returned eagerly to Félicie, whose shortsighted eyes appeared to him quite charming in their pathos.
“What you have said has given me the greatest satisfaction,” he said, “because it explains everything so admirably. That there must be an explanation I knew, but one puzzled one’s head with thinking what it could be.”
Félicie smiled delightedly. To hear that her explanation was admirable seemed to give her the credit of having offered it, and the many snubs she had received of late from Claire made this appreciation the more valuable.
“And no doubt,” pursued her companion, “Monsieur de Beaudrillart either has repaid or was intending to repay all?”
“Yes, the paper said that would be his defence—you must excuse me if I do not use the right terms, for I had scarcely time to glance at it.”
“Mademoiselle, you are clearness itself.”