Sulpice looked at his young wife with a fondness that almost inspired him with remorse. In her look there was so complete an expression of her love. Then her affection was so deep, and her calm like the face of a motionless lake was so manifest, and she loved him so deeply, so intelligently. And how trustful, too!
He was impelled now to beg her don her cloak and to have a fur robe put into the coupé and set out now, when the sun was gradually showing itself, like two lovers bound for a country party. At the same time he felt a desperate longing to be alone, to abandon himself to his new idea and to the image that beset him. He felt that he was leaving Adrienne for Marianne.
He did not hold to the suggestion, in fact, he repeated that it would be better if he were alone. As there would be no session of the Chamber for a whole week, he would go out with Adrienne the next day. The coachman could drive them a long distance, even to Saint-Cloud or Ville-d'Avray. They would breakfast together all alone, unknown, in the woods.
"Truly?" said Adrienne.
"Truly! I feel the necessity of avoiding so many demonstrations in my honor."
Sulpice laughed.
"I am stifled by them," he said, as he kissed Adrienne, whose face was pink with delight at the thought of that unrestrained escapade.
"How you blush!" said Sulpice, ingenuously. "What is the matter with you?"
"With me? Nothing."
She looked at him anxiously.