When he had said to her: “Is it not time to return?” she darted a singular look at him. “Certainly,” she said, “certainly,” regarding him at the same time in a curious manner. He had not thought of it at the time, but now the whole thing appeared to him quite plain.
“Just as you like, my friend. If you are tired let us go back.”
And he had answered: “I am not fatigued; but Sandres may be awake now.”
And she had said: “If you are afraid of my husband's being awake, that is another thing. Let us return.”
On their way back she remained silent, and leaned no longer on his arm. Why?
At that time it had never occurred to him, to ask himself “why.” Now he seemed to apprehend something that he had not then understood.
Could it?
M. Saval felt himself blush, and he got up at a bound, as if he were thirty years younger and had heard Madame Sandres say, “I love you.”
Was it possible? That idea which had just entered his mind tortured him. Was it possible that he had not seen, had not guessed?
Oh! if that were true, if he had let this opportunity of happiness pass without taking advantage of it!