“You should ask who, my Renée! I was sure he would not hear of M. Beauchamp’s being here, without an effort to return and do the honours of the château.”
Renée looked hard at her, saying, “How thoughtful of you! You must have made use of the telegraph wires to inform him that M. Beauchamp was with us.”
“More; I made use of them to inform him that M. Beauchamp was expected.”
“And that was enough to bring him! He pays M. Beauchamp a wonderful compliment.”
“Such as he would pay to no other man, my Renée. Virtually it is the highest of compliments to you. I say that to M. Beauchamp’s credit; for Raoul has met him, and, whatever his personal feeling may be, must know your friend is a man of honour.”
“My friend is... yes, I have no reason to think otherwise,” Renée replied. Her husband’s persistent and exclusive jealousy of Beauchamp was the singular point in the character of one who appeared to have no sentiment of the kind as regarded men that were much less than men of honour. “So, then, my sister Agnès,” she said, “you suggested the invitation of M. Beauchamp for the purpose of spurring my husband to return! Apparently he and I are surrounded by plotters.”
“Am I so very guilty?” said Madame d’Auffray.
“If that mad boy, half idiot, half panther, were by chance to insult M. Beauchamp, you would feel so.”
“You have taken precautions to prevent their meeting; and besides, M. Beauchamp does not fight.”
Renée flushed crimson.