“Take care!” said Pierre. “Here’s your wife.”
Cayrol eyed Jeanne, who was approaching. Burning tears came to his eyes. He murmured:
“She, with a look so pure, and a face so calm! Is it possible?”
He nodded a farewell to Pierre and Madame Desvarennes, who were leaving, and recovering himself, advanced to meet Jeanne.
“Are you off?” she inquired. “You know you have no time to lose!”
Cayrol shuddered. She seemed anxious to get rid of him.
“I have still a few minutes to spend with you,” he said, with emotion. “You see, Jeanne, I am sad at going away alone. It is the first time I have left you. In a moment our guests will be gone—I beg of you, come with me!”
Jeanne smiled. “But you see, dear, I am in evening dress.”
“The night of our marriage I brought you away from Cernay like that. Wrap yourself up in your furs, and come! Give me this proof of affection. I deserve it. I am not a bad man—and I love you so!”
Jeanne frowned. This pressing vexed her.