The change was effected.
“I can give you the latest news of your wife,” he said almost before he was seated. “I saw her only yesterday. I called in fact to make my farewells.”
“How is she?” inquired the doctor anxiously. It was the one question that concerned him.
“Not altogether well, I fancy. A little homesick. Paris possibly a little on her nerves.”
He took up the wine list. “Can we agree as to wine?”
The doctor made a hasty gesture. “Anything you like. I’m on my way to bring her home,” he observed.
Fontenelle, who was giving the waiter elaborate directions about warming the Burgundy he had selected, did not at once reply.
When the man had hurried off with a Bien Monsieur! he looked at his companion.
“You are going to fetch her you say? Good! I think all she wants is the rest and quiet of your charming village. Paris is not the place for nervous women, doctor. The atmosphere is too exciting—too distracting.” He made a little comprehensive gesture with both hands.
“But you don’t think she’s ill?”