The marchioness pointed to her great-nephew, Jean de Blaye, who, ever since he had left the window, did not appear to be taking any notice of what was going on around him.
"Everyone?" she said, almost angrily; "no, not everyone. Look at Jean, he is as blind as the abbé!"
Jean de Blaye was sitting motionless in a large arm-chair; there was an impassive expression on his face, and a far-away look in his eyes. He appeared to be in a reverie, and the younger lady glanced across at him, as she answered:
"I am afraid that he is only acting blind!"
"Oh, nonsense!" said Madame de Bracieux delighted, "do you think that Bijou could possibly interest Jean enough, for instance, to keep him, even for a time, from his actresses, his horses, his theatres, and the stupid life he generally leads?—You really think so?"
"I do think so!"
"And how long have you thought this?"
"Oh, only just now. When he told us with such conviction that 'he did not care all that much about being reminded of Paris,' I felt that he was speaking the truth. I began to wonder then what could have made him forget Paris. I wondered and wondered—and I found out."
"Bijou?"
"Exactly."