We passed a delightful day. At night we dined together at a restaurant, like two bachelors—that is to say, we dined in the main dining-room. And when we parted, Frédérique said:
"Not for long!"
The next day, when I returned home after doing several errands, I found Mignonne in her usual place.
She bade me good-morning as usual, but her glance seemed less frank than it usually was. We all have days when we are inclined to melancholy; perhaps she had just come from her child's grave.
I chatted with Mignonne as usual. I fancied that I could see that she was waiting for Pomponne to leave us alone. But when I had company, that servant of mine always found some excuse for constantly going in and out and appearing every minute or two in the room where we were. I have known him to leave a pin on the mantel, as a pretext for returning, and, when he came for it, to leave another in its place. I had to call to him sternly: "When will you have done with that nonsense?"—He realized that I was losing patience, and he came no more to fetch his pins.
At last, Mignonne decided to speak.
"Has that lady who was here the other day been to see you again, monsieur?" she asked hesitatingly.
"Yes, Mignonne, she has. We had had a little dispute, but we are reconciled now. She has a hot head, but an excellent heart."
"Did she tell you that it was wrong of you to let me work here?"
"On the contrary, she said several times that she was very sorry that she had said things to you that might have hurt you, and that she hoped to make her peace with you."