"Ah! so it's that fellow now! Each in his turn!"
Madame Dauberny withdrew her hand from mine, her features contracted, her brow grew dark; but she said nothing. I too was silent; for, not knowing whether she had heard what Saint-Bergame said, I was careful not to tell her. But I had a feeling of embarrassment and of wrath, which banished all the pleasurable sensations of a moment before.
We drove a considerable distance without speaking; and when she turned so that I could see her face, which she had kept averted for a long while, I detected tears in her eyes.
I quickly grasped her hand again, saying:
"What is the matter?"
Thereupon she at once resumed her usual manner, as if she were ashamed that I had observed her emotion, and answered, with a smile:
"Nothing, nothing at all! Mon Dieu! my friend, can one always tell what the matter is? It all depends on one's frame of mind. We are sometimes deeply moved by a remark that isn't worth the labor of listening to.—Take us home, cocher.—I can properly say home, for, thank heaven! I am alone, and mistress of the house for the present."
"Your husband is——?"
"He is not in Paris; he has gone on a little trip, according to the word he sent to me; and you can imagine that I did not detain him. It is true that Monsieur Dauberny doesn't interfere with me in any way, that he doesn't prevent me from doing whatever I please; but, for all that, I feel happier when I know that he isn't under the same roof. Oh! if only he could travel forever!"
I was certain that the man had fled after the ill-fated Annette's death; perhaps he was afraid that she would make damaging disclosures before she died. I was persuaded that fear alone had driven him from Paris, and that he proposed to wait until that affair was forgotten before he returned.