Monsieur Roquencourt chattered on, and in due time we reached the village. Caroline had held Eugène’s hand all the way, and had talked frequently with my daughter.
“Here is our hermitage,” said Monsieur Roquencourt, stopping in front of a pretty house within two gun shots of Ernest’s. “I trust that you will come to see us, Monsieur Dalbreuse. In the country one must be neighborly,—isn’t that so, niece?”
“If monsieur chooses to give us that pleasure, if he would bring his children to see us, I should be delighted to see them again.—Would you like to come, my dear love?”
“Yes, madame.”
“And you, my little man? you must like sweeties and I always have some.”
Eugène replied with great solemnity that he would like to come to see the sweeties. I thanked her for the children and took my leave, promising to bring them the next day.
So Caroline wished to see me again; her fiery wrath against me was allayed; doubtless it was because the sentiment that had given birth to that wrath had also vanished. But why had she lost her former playful humor? Upon my word, I was very conceited to think that it had anything to do with me. Might not Mademoiselle Derbin have some heartache, or some secret, with which I was absolutely unconnected? I would have been glad to know if she had seen Madame Blémont again before leaving Mont-d’Or. However, I was not sorry for the meeting. When Ernest was at work, it was impossible to talk with him; and his wife was constantly busy with her children and with her household cares. So I thought that it would be pleasant to go sometimes to Monsieur Roquencourt’s for a chat.
At dinner I informed my hosts of our meeting.
“If they are pleasant people, ask them to come to see us,” said Ernest.
I noticed that his wife did not second that invitation. I had said that Caroline was lovely, and wives sometimes dread the visit of a lovely person; Marguerite was a wife now.