"No, it would be quite different," she answered carelessly. "In two months' time she will be married, or nearly so."
"Married!" exclaimed M. de Rueille, astounded. "Married! Jean is going to marry her, then?"
"Why, no! Jean is not going to marry her. He's another one who would do well to make himself scarce."
"Well, if it is not Jean, I do not see—it is not Henry, I presume?"
"No, not Henry either. He understands perfectly well that, with what he has, he cannot marry Bijou."
"Well, who is it, then? Who is it?"
"Why, no one at all—that is, no one in particular."
"You spoke, on the contrary, as though you were affirming something that was quite settled. You said: In two months' time she will be married, or nearly so. What did you mean by that? Why don't you want to tell me? You have been told not to? It is a secret?"
"No, it is merely a supposition, I assure you, that is all."
"And this supposition you will not tell me?"