“He will be all right; he has sense enough,” said her husband, easily. “What was that little imbecile Jean about?”
“Dear, I can’t blame him. What was he to do? He has been ordered never to leave the carriage.”
“Do? He might have done something. It is ridiculous to suppose that he could not have prevented it. Who gave him those orders?”
“Your mother.”
“Oh, well, of course it wouldn’t do for the pony to run wild. However, don’t worry yourself; depend upon it, it’s all right.” He began to hum an air. “I believe, after all, I will go with you, if only to keep you quiet. And besides the pleasure of seeing you, I am not sorry that you have come. Fishing is horribly stupid work all by one’s self. I was beginning to think I was sick of it, and from the relief I feel, I am sure. Stop! Where are you going?”
“Dear Léon, I am so uneasy! You can follow.”
“Heartless woman! But I don’t let you off so quietly. Haven’t I told you that my own society fatigues me? haven’t I welcomed your coming? and yet you have the unkindness to propose to leave me! Come, be reasonable. Help me with this detestable rod, which your fingers can manage twice as well as mine, and then we go together.”
But to his amazement his wife only turned her head.
“I cannot stay, Léon; I am too anxious. Come as quickly as you can.”
He stared after her as she hastened away, his face losing some of its easy expression. Dark, like the De Beaudrillarts, his features were small, and their lines rounded. He was of medium height, and broadly made about the shoulders; his eyes were brown, and the eyebrows straight. He laughed readily, yet occasionally a certain haggard look, curiously at variance with the roundness of his cheek, crept over his face and aged it. Now, after a momentary hesitation, he flung his rod and basket on the ground and ran after his wife.