I see my way, as birds their trackless way.
De Casimir had never seen Louis d'Arragon, and yet some dim resemblance to his cousin must have introduced the new-comer to a conscience not quite easy.
“You seek me, Monsieur,” he asked, not having recognized Desiree, who stood behind her companion, in her furs.
“I seek Colonel Darragon, and was told that we should find him in this room.”
“May I ask why you seek him in this rather unceremonious manner?” asked De Casimir, with the ready insolence of his calling and his age.
“Because I am his cousin,” replied Louis quietly, “and Madame is his wife.”
Desiree came forward, her face colourless. She caught her breath, but made no attempt to speak.
De Casimir tried to lift himself on his elbows.
“Ah! madame,” he said. “You see me in a sorry state. I have been very ill.” And he made a gesture with one hand, begging her to overlook his unkempt appearance and the disorder of his room.
“Where is Charles?” asked Desiree curtly. She had suddenly realized how intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, and distrusted him.