"Yes."
"It is true that—three days ago—I should not have taken supper without him. But we have quarrelled."
"Ah! you are on bad terms now?"
"Yes."
"Not for long, I presume?"
"Perhaps so. When one has been able to pass two days without trying to see a certain person, one can pass a week; when one has passed a week, there is no reason why one should not pass a month, and so on. He did something that—displeased me, and I told him so. Instead of apologizing, he thought it became him to make a scene, and he made a miserable failure of it. He should have come the next day—that same night, indeed—to beg my pardon; he didn't do it, and now I think it would be too late. Look you, my friend—I want to call you my friend, and you give me leave, do you not, monsieur?—I believe that I can do without Saint-Bergame much better than I thought."
As she spoke, she offered me her hand so prettily that I was tempted to throw my arms about her and kiss her. But I confined myself to taking her hand and putting it to my lips; whereupon she hastily withdrew it, crying:
"Well, well! what in heaven's name is he doing? Are men in the habit of kissing their male friends' hands? that is a new idea, on my word!"
XX
BETWEEN THE PIPE AND THE CHAMPAGNE
The baron, who was beginning to be drowsy with the combined effects of the wine and tobacco, and whose eyes were not nearly so wide open as at the beginning of the supper, saw me, none the less, when I kissed Madame Dauberny's hand. He immediately snatched his pipe from his mouth and glared at me, crying: