“Yes, of course.”
“I shall expect you to-morrow morning, promptly at seven o’clock.”
“I will be on time.”
Marguerite had gone into another room. She returned at that moment and said:
“Don’t you wish to kiss our children before you go?”
At that suggestion, tears came to my eyes; for I reflected that I could not kiss my daughter before going to bed that night.
Marguerite evidently divined my thought.
“Oh! pray forgive me,” she said; “I have pained you. Oh dear! I didn’t mean to.”
I pressed her hand, nodded to Ernest, and hurried from the room.
Once more I was compelled to return to that apartment. It was torture to me. How empty it seemed! and in fact it was empty; no wife, no child about me. It was not Eugénie whom my eyes sought; she had avoided and shunned my presence for a long while. It was my daughter, my little Henriette—she did not avoid me! What a miserable night I passed! not a moment’s sleep. I wondered if she who made me so unhappy was sleeping quietly.