“Come, Papa Bouchard,” she said, with pallid lips, but affecting to laugh, “you must not scold Victor for bringing me here. I really made him do it. But I want to speak to you a moment in that sweet, sequestered arbor, where you told this lady just now she might find her uncle and aunt, amid the roses and honeysuckles and the little cooing pigeons.”
Monsieur Bouchard would much rather have gone off with a gendarme at that very moment, but Léontine had him by the arm, and was determinedly dragging him away. An anxious grin appeared on his countenance as he turned to Madame Vernet and said:
“One moment, Madame, and I will return.”
“Only a moment, remember,” answered this bashful creature.
Madame Vernet had not the slightest objection to being left in charge of this good-looking young officer. She cast down her eyes and began to murmur something about her timidity, when she was brought up all standing by de Meneval saying:
“Madame, a few moments ago I overheard you thanking Monsieur Bouchard for that superb necklace you wear.”
Madame Vernet smiled. Superb necklace, indeed! It must be a fine imitation.
“But,” continued de Meneval, “that necklace belongs to my wife, Madame de Meneval. I myself selected it, and paid forty thousand francs for it. Last night I left it in Monsieur Bouchard’s care in the Rue Bassano. To-night I find you, a woman with whom, I am sure, Monsieur Bouchard has a very casual acquaintance, wearing my wife’s forty thousand franc necklace. You will admit that the circumstances justify me in demanding the necklace.”
“Monsieur,” replied Madame Vernet, “this necklace is paste. It cost only seventy-five francs. I have Monsieur Bouchard’s word for it.”