“Yes, but I wanted to be certain.”
“And you—you seem to be rich and happy?”
“I—yes.”
“You are married; and where is your wife? I shall be delighted to know her.”
“My wife——”
Edouard paused; the thought of Adeline, of Madame Germeuil, the suspicions which the latter had conceived the night before, when she saw the face with moustaches; the brusque manners, and the more than careless garb of Jacques, which was in such striking contrast to his own, all this tormented the spirit of the young bridegroom, who, at the best weak and irresolute, tried in vain to harmonize his self-esteem and the sentiments which the sight of his brother awoke in him.
“What the devil are you thinking about?” asked Jacques, taking Edouard’s arm.
“Oh! I was reflecting; it is late, and I must go back to Paris. Important business demands my presence there.”
Jacques made no reply, but his brow darkened, and he walked a few steps away from his brother.
“What are you doing now, Jacques?”