“I was sure of it—at Madame de Fischtaminel’s!”
“No, at our notary’s, as he had got me a purchaser; but we could not come to terms: he wanted our villa furnished. When I left there, I went to Braschon’s, to see how much we owed him—”
“You made up this romance while I was talking to you! Look me in the face! I’ll go to see Braschon to-morrow.”
Adolphe cannot restrain a nervous shudder.
“You can’t help laughing, you monster!”
“I laugh at your obstinacy.”
“I’ll go to-morrow to Madame de Fischtaminel’s.”
“Oh, go wherever you like!”
“What brutality!” says Caroline, rising and going away with her handkerchief at her eyes.
The country house, so ardently longed for by Caroline, has now become a diabolical invention of Adolphe’s, a trap into which the fawn has fallen.