"With too much vermilion?"
Adolphe, who sees the atmosphere of the north pole upon his wife's face, sits down upon a chair by her side. Caroline, unable decently to go away, gives her gown a sort of flip on one side, as if to produce a separation. This motion is performed by some women with a provoking impertinence: but it has two significations; it is, as whist players would say, either a signal for trumps or a renounce. At this time, Caroline renounces.
"What is the matter?" says Adolphe.
"Will you have a glass of sugar and water?" asks Caroline, busying herself about your health, and assuming the part of a servant.
"What for?"
"You are not amiable while digesting, you must be in pain. Perhaps you would like a drop of brandy in your sugar and water? The doctor spoke of it as an excellent remedy."
"How anxious you are about my stomach!"
"It's a centre, it communicates with the other organs, it will act upon your heart, and through that perhaps upon your tongue."
Adolphe gets up and walks about without saying a word, but he reflects upon the acuteness which his wife is acquiring: he sees her daily gaining in strength and in acrimony: she is getting to display an art in vexation and a military capacity for disputation which reminds him of Charles XII and the Russians. Caroline, during this time, is busy with an alarming piece of mimicry: she looks as if she were going to faint.
"Are you sick?" asks Adolphe, attacked in his generosity, the place where women always have us.