"Why the devil do you regard it thus?" cried Henri, offering Jacob a little glass of brandy. "I almost forgot the Bourse. I have hardly time to swallow anything. Dear Mathilde, be good enough to keep our guest until my return. I confide him to you; do not let him escape. I will be absent only a quarter of an hour."
He rang.
"Are the horses ready?" asked he of the servant.
"Yes, monsieur."
"That is good. Au revoir. Without further excuse I leave you with my wife," said he, kissing his wife's hand. "If you are at loss for conversation, she can play the piano or sing something. You will find the daily papers on the table. Very poor reading, I assure you, but, for want of something better"--
When he had gone they remained silent for some time, not daring to look at each other. At last Mathilde sighed, and held out her hand to him, murmuring:--
"Jacob, we are old and good friends, and nothing more, are we not?"
"Madame," replied he respectfully, "time has not changed me, and the confidence you have in me will not be betrayed."
"When we seek to keep apart," said Mathilde, "fate reunites us. It is a temptation. Let us remain worthy of ourselves and worthy of our past, so pure. I cannot understand Henri. Ordinarily he is so jealous. He does not like to leave me alone with men. And to-day he has acted so differently. Is it confidence or indifference? I will ask him."
"What matters it? Tell me how you are, and why you left Italy so soon?"