Gilberte reflected:
“He’s quite right to make himself amiable. It’s the only way to get round his mother.”
Nevertheless, she had to make a certain effort to look upon this as the only explanation of Guillaume’s conduct.
Two more days followed without a letter. Then, one morning, Adèle came back from her shopping:
“Here’s a bit of news!” she said. “There’s no harm in telling you, now that you’ve got over things. M. Guillaume is engaged to the eldest Charmeron girl.”
Gilberte burst out laughing:
“It’s one of Mme. Duval’s matches!”
“No, no, I hear it from others as well: the Bottentuits’ servant told me; so did M. Beaufrelant’s gardener. Mme. de la Vaudraye announced it last night when every one was there.”
Not for a moment did Gilberte admit the possibility of so great a perfidy. Nothing evil could ever come from within her: no suspicions, no doubts, no base thoughts; and whatever came from without broke against her love like impotent waves. How could she have pictured treachery, who did not know that treachery existed?
She was therefore very cheerful all day long. Nevertheless, at sunset, an irresistible force drew her to the ruined summer-house. Guillaume was not among the rocks in the valley.