"Too complicated!" repeated Bijou, turning red. "I detest being put off like that. Why will you not explain what you were thinking?"
"Explain what I was thinking," he said, in a sort of fright. "Oh, no!"
"No? Well, it is not nice of you."
They went on for a minute or two without speaking, Bijou calm and smiling, and her companion with a serious, uneasy look on his face.
Just as the gig was entering the avenue, Bijou turned towards M. de Rueille, and touching him, this time very gently, with her little hand, she said in a penetrating voice, which, in his agitated state of mind, was the last straw:
"As it vexes you so much I won't wear that costume. We will get Jean to design another for me."
He seized the hand that was resting on his arm and pressed it to his lips with an almost brutal tenderness.
Bijou did not appear to like this passionate display of feeling. She drew her hand away quietly, but there was a strange gleam in her eyes as she said:
"Take care of the gate, it is a sharp turn remember, and you are not in luck to-day."
She then began to collect her parcels calmly, and until they arrived at the door of the château she was silent and thoughtful. The first dinner-bell was just ringing, and Bijou ran upstairs to her room, and ten minutes later entered the drawing-room, arrayed in a dainty dress of rose-leaf coloured chiffon, with a large bunch of roses on the shoulder.