Three days had passed since that meeting. I had forgotten Giraud, and I am inclined to think that they thought little about him at Monsieur Roquencourt’s.
I had gone out for a moment without my children; I did not intend to see Caroline, but she was at the window when I passed; she saw me and beckoned to me to come in. Her uncle was in the garden and she was alone in the salon. Since our parting at Mont-d’Or, for some reason or other I was always embarrassed when I was alone with her.
For some time we did not speak. That is what often happens when two people have a great many things to say to each other. Caroline was sitting at her piano, but she did not play.
“Why do I never hear you play now?” I asked.
“Because it depresses you, and I do not see the sense of causing you pain.”
“There are memories which are painful and sweet at the same time. I would like to hear once more that tune which you played the last time.”
“And which made your daughter cry? Poor child! how dearly I love her!”
Caroline turned to the piano and played Eugénie’s favorite piece. I abandoned myself to the charm of listening and to the illusion of my memories. My heart was swollen with tears, and yet I enjoyed it. Caroline turned often to look at me, but I did not see her.
Suddenly a great uproar roused us from that situation, which had much charm for us both. The doorbell rang violently. Soon we heard several voices and the barking of a dog.
“What a nuisance!” cried Caroline; “one cannot be left in peace here a moment; my uncle receives all his neighbors! I absolutely must lose my temper with him.”