“Why are we going so soon?” asked Eugénie, looking at me in surprise.
“Because I wish it, madame. Come, no comments, but make haste.”
The tone in which I said this was so new to Eugénie’s ears that she rose at once to obey; moreover, people might have heard me speaking to her in that tone and I fancy that she did not desire that.
She was ready in a moment; I took my daughter’s hand, and we prepared to go.
“Are you going already?” asked the mistress of the house. “Why, it isn’t all over, he is going to mend the lantern.”
“We cannot stay any longer,” I said, curtly enough.
“I do not feel very well,” murmured Eugénie; “we must go.”
I did not say a word to my wife on the way home, for our daughter was with us. Poor child! I had deprived her of a part of the pleasure which she had anticipated, but she dared not complain.
When we were at home and her daughter was in bed, Eugénie said to me in a bitter tone:
“May I know why you dragged me away so abruptly from the party where we were?”