“How can it be that a peasant’s child has such lovely eyes?”
XV
TWO GENTLEMEN AFTER DINNER
Several days had passed. Paul had paid frequent visits to the two friends in the evening, and his sombre humor was beginning to disappear. His face no longer wore that forbidding look which intimidated the country people; as he talked with Honorine his voice became less harsh, his eyes softer.
The young widow, on her side, experienced an entirely unfamiliar sensation when the master of the Tower seated himself at her side. That sensation afforded pleasant occupation for her heart; she felt happier than ever before, and did not attempt to conceal her happiness, because she saw no harm in the interest which she felt in a man who had hitherto always been betrayed in his affections.
More than once Agathe had said to her:
“You ought to ask Monsieur Paul to tell us his adventures; then we should finally learn the story of the ravine. We should learn why he went at night to the cross that marks the place where someone was killed.”
But Honorine would reply:
“I do not like to invite confidences; it would seem to indicate curiosity, suspicion even. So long as a person does not tell us his griefs, it means that he does not think us likely to be interested in them. Let us wait. It is a good deal gained that Monsieur Paul should have abandoned for our sakes his uncivilized, solitary habits; he comes to see us, and that is a great compliment on the part of a man who never speaks to anyone. But we can’t expect him to treat us at once like old friends.”
“Why not? his dog made friends with us at once, and since he divines a person’s feeling toward his master, it seems to me that the master might well follow his dog’s example.”
The owners of the Goldfish Villa had issued their invitations for the gorgeous fête which they proposed to give in their new abode. Nothing was talked about in Chelles but the preparations that were in progress at Monsieur and Madame de Belleville’s. Workmen had been brought from Paris; there was to be an illumination and fireworks in the garden. The courtyard and avenue were encumbered with shrubs, and boxes filled with rare flowers; upholsterers had come to renew the hangings, and painters to touch up the stairs and stair-rails. Everything was in commotion, and in the midst of it all Chamoureau, bewildered by the crowds of people coming and going and by the noise that arose on all sides, often took refuge in the depths of his park, saying to himself: