"Is this the explanation that I shall make to Madame d'Angoulême? Think of the tender sister who says—'Louis, you are recalled!"
"I do think of her. God bless her!"
"Must I tell her that Monseigneur planted his feet like one of these wild cattle, and wheeled, and fled from the contemplation of a throne?"
"You will dress it up in your own felicitous way, monsieur."
"What do you wish me to say?"
"That I decline. I have not pressed the embarrassing question of why I was not recalled long ago. I reserve to myself the privilege of declining without saying why I decline."
"He must be made to change his mind, monsieur!" Madame de Ferrier exclaimed.
"I am not a man that changes his mind every time the clock strikes."
I took the padlocked book out of my breast and laid it upon the table. I looked at the priest, not at her. The padlocked book seemed to have no more to do with the conversation, than a hat or a pair of gloves.
I saw, as one sees from the side of the eye, the scarlet rush of blood and the snow-white rush of pallor which covered her one after the other. The moment was too strenuous. I could not spare her. She had to bear it with me.