"Why the devil do you want to fall on the stairs? You're too careless—and the day after your wedding, too! I'll stake my head you were running to your wife?"
"Just so!" Auguste replied, with a glance at Fanny, who simply smiled, without raising her eyes from her embroidery frame.
"I was sure of it! It was his haste, his love for you, belle dame, which caused his accident. Ah! your eyes are very dangerous! But, after all, as love caused the destruction of Troy, it may well make a man slip on the stairs."
"Monsieur de la Bérinière, pray come here a moment."
"Gad! Madame de Mirallon can't seem to get enough of me this evening. It's a conspiracy! Can she have conceived the idea of monopolizing me?"
And the count, who had made these remarks in an undertone, added aloud:
"But, madame, I see that Monsieur Batonnin is no longer your partner; Monsieur Gerbault has taken his place, so you can have no reason to complain now."
"Ah! what a cruel man you are! I wanted to show you an extraordinary hand."
"Mon Dieu! she has shown me her hand often enough!" muttered the count, turning toward young De Raincy; "I don't care to see it any more."
Auguste, having shaken hands with his father-in-law, and said a word or two to the different guests, went up to his wife and tapped her gently on the cheek.