“When a man is a hero he is not one by halves. He asked for this post on account of the danger.”
M. de Lavernay, bending towards his neighbor, whispered in her ear:
“I like to see you get excited. Your cheeks color and your eyes flash.”
But it was not at either her cheeks or her eyes that he was looking. The impatient Isabelle cut him short with that sharpness which marriage had not cured.
“Do be quiet, you old sinner!” she cried.
Alice had taken up her bouquet of orchids and was smelling it, half hiding her paleness. At last Isabelle, giving full vent to the uneasiness which had tortured her for the last few minutes, said,
“And Captain Berlier? He was coming back from the Sahara too. He belonged to the same regiment as Commander Guibert. Had he gone with him to Timmimun?”
Did Clément Dulaurens guess her anxiety from the tone of her voice? Too often had he suffered from her sarcastic remarks not to take a cruel pleasure in tormenting her a little now.
“Yes, that is true,” he said. “Jean Berlier must have been there as well.”
“Now what do you know exactly?” demanded Isabelle imperiously.