“What are we to do this evening? Leon seems determined to come,” Mme. de la Garde was saying, as she read a passionate epistle indited upon a faint gray notepaper.
“Here is the master!” said Jenny.
Castanier came in. Aquilina, nowise disconcerted, crumpled up the letter, took it with the tongs, and held it in the flames.
“So that is what you do with your love-letters, is it?” asked Castanier.
“Oh goodness, yes,” said Aquilina; “is it not the best way of keeping them safe? Besides, fire should go to fire, as water makes for the river.”
“You are talking as if it were a real love-letter, Naqui——”
“Well, am I not handsome enough to receive them?” she said, holding up her forehead for a kiss. There was a carelessness in her manner that would have told any man less blind than Castanier that it was only a piece of conjugal duty, as it were, to give this joy to the cashier, but use and wont had brought Castanier to the point where clear-sightedness is no longer possible for love.
“I have taken a box at the Gymnase this evening,” he said; “let us have dinner early, and then we need not dine in a hurry.”
“Go and take Jenny. I am tired of plays. I do not know what is the matter with me this evening; I would rather stay here by the fire.”
“Come, all the same though, Naqui; I shall not be here to bore you much longer. Yes, Quiqui, I am going to start to-night, and it will be some time before I come back again. I am leaving everything in your charge. Will you keep your heart for me too?”