Milona bowed with a kind of haughty deference. With a tender look at the young man she said—
“Do not tarry; she is never happy except when you are there!”
Marcel stifled a cry of joy.
“Oh, Milona! What has she told you?”
“Nothing. But even had she taken me into her confidence I would not betray her. All the same, I see the difference between when she is alone and when you are with her. She is not the same at all. Come! She was in tears all the morning.”
With a bow, she placed her fingers to her lips and withdrew.
Marcel watched her take her departure. His heart beat wildly; flashes of light seemed to pass before his eyes. He had forgotten everything—works, strikes, danger, Uncle Graff, and his good resolutions. Now he thought of nothing but the radiant blonde awaiting him in that solitary villa, for which he set off with all the ardour of youth and love.
CHAPTER V
In the dimly-lit salon Marcel and Madame Vignola were seated chatting near the window. It was ten o’clock. In the clear blue sky the sun shone brightly, and its warm rays breaking through the branches of the trees came with caressing gentleness to the lovers. Madame Vignola was saying in grave accents—
“Even in this out-of-the-way little place, right in the midst of the forest and far away from the rush of town life, there is no perfect peace and calm.”