“Are you going away?” inquired Micheline, a light dawning on her mind.
“Yes,” said Cayrol; “I have an important matter to settle.”
“And when do you start?” continued Micheline, in such a changed voice that her mother was frightened.
“In a moment,” answered the banker. “Allow me to leave you. I have several orders to give.”
And leaving the boudoir, he regained the little drawing-room.
Micheline, with clinched hands and fixed gaze, was saying to herself:
“She will be alone to-night, and has asked him to come to her. He told me an untruth about his having to go to the club. He is going to see her!”
And passing her hand across her brow, as if to drive away an unpleasant thought, the young wife remained silent, dismayed and crushed.
“Micheline, what is the matter with you?” asked Madame Desvarennes, seizing her daughter’s hand, which was icy cold.
“Nothing,” stammered Micheline.