“You can’t avoid doing so,” replied Madame de Camps. “In the first place, Nais will chatter about it. Besides, Monsieur de Sallenauve addresses you in a most respectful manner, and there is nothing in the letter to feed your husband’s notion.”
“Who is that common-looking man I met on the stairs talking with Nais?” said Monsieur de l’Estorade to his wife, as he entered the salon.
As Madame de l’Estorade did not seem to understand him, he added,—
“He is pitted with the small-pox, and wears a maroon coat and shabby hat.”
“Oh!” said Madame de Camps, addressing her friend; “it must be the man who was here just now. Nais has seized the occasion to inquire about her idol.”
“But who is he?” repeated Monsieur de l’Estorade.
“I think his name is Bricheteau; he is a friend of Monsieur de Sallenauve,” replied Madame de Camps.
Seeing the cloud on her husband’s brow, Madame de l’Estorade hastened to explain the double object of the organist’s visit, and she gave him the letter of the new deputy. While he was reading it, Madame de l’Estorade said, aside, to Monsieur de Camps,—
“He seems to me much better, don’t you think so?”
“Yes; there’s scarcely a trace left of what we saw this morning. He was too wrought up about his work. Going out did him good; and yet he met with a rather unpleasant surprise at Rastignac’s.”