One morning, as he was passing out through the anteroom, he saw, on the third floor, on the staircase, the shako of a National Guard who was ascending it. Where in the world was he going?
Frederick waited. The man continued his progress up the stairs, with his head slightly bent down. He raised his eyes. It was my lord Arnoux!
The situation was clear. They both reddened simultaneously, overcome by a feeling of embarrassment common to both.
Arnoux was the first to find a way out of the difficulty.
"She is better—isn't that so?" as if Rosanette were ill, and he had come to learn how she was.
Frederick took advantage of this opening.
"Yes, certainly! at least, so I was told by her maid," wishing to convey that he had not been allowed to see her.
Then they stood facing each other, both undecided as to what they would do next, and eyeing one another intently. The question now was, which of the two was going to remain. Arnoux once more solved the problem.
"Pshaw! I'll come back by-and-by. Where are you going? I go with you!"
And, when they were in the street, he chatted as naturally as usual. Unquestionably he was not a man of jealous disposition, or else he was too good-natured to get angry. Besides, his time was devoted to serving his country. He never left off his uniform now. On the twenty-ninth of March he had defended the offices of the Presse. When the Chamber was invaded, he distinguished himself by his courage, and he was at the banquet given to the National Guard at Amiens.