“We’ll go together!” said his wife.
“Yes! And confess all! I’ll show him you! He’ll forgive us then and won’t regret—”
“His poverty!” laughed Ravant’s happy wife.
“Yes. Hang it! That’s the horror of it. Once I thought it would be the joy of it! And how he must have writhed under the newspapering! Such a sensitive chap as he is! It has been torture to even me. But I deserve that punishment.”
“You do!” cooed his wife.
“Let us go home,” said Ravant, “and live in a little house—alone!”
“Done!” cried his wife.
“We’ll change our names and the newspapers will not be able to find us!”
“Done!”
“But—there wasn’t any money here, you know” (it was Rouen).