“That is because she is jealous of you!” said Lenaieff naively.
“Jealous? And why?” said Zibeline, blushing.
Visibly embarrassed, Henri drew out his watch in order to avert his countenance.
“Midday!” he cried. “This is the hour for the return of the troops to their barracks. You would do well not to delay in starting for home, Mademoiselle. The roads will be very crowded, and your horses will not be able to trot. I beg your pardon for taking away your model, my dear Delorme, but I really must be off.”
“It is all the same to me; I have finished my sketch,” said the painter, closing his portfolio.
At this moment, as the military governor passed near them, on his way to the crossway of the Pyramid, Henri made a movement as if to rejoin him.
“Do not disturb yourself, General de Prerolles,” said the military governor. “The compliments which I have made you on the fine appearance of your troops are probably not so agreeable to you as those to which you are listening at present!”
And saluting Mademoiselle de Vermont courteously, he went his way.
“Now you are free, Henri. Suppose we accompany Mademoiselle back to Paris?” suggested Lenaieff, seeming to read his friend’s mind.
“What an honor for me!” Valentine exclaimed.