“Never mentioned what to you?”
“Why, Monsieur Edmond’s love for this girl, whom you know, and whom you consider so pretty.”
“Why, madame, I couldn’t mention it to you, because I knew nothing about it myself; it was Freluchon who told me.”
“But you said that you knew this woman! You don’t seem to know what you are saying, monsieur! Oh! how you irritate me!”
“My dear love, do be careful; you’re tearing the lace in your sleeves—you will have it in rags.”
“Oh! don’t bother about my lace, monsieur; it suits me to tear it, apparently. But for God’s sake, tell me exactly what Monsieur Freluchon said to you about his friend Edmond. Speak, monsieur! why don’t you speak? you see that I am waiting!”
At that moment Thélénie’s eyes emitted flames, and their expression was so far from loving that Chamoureau found them less beautiful than usual. He had never seen his superb wife’s face wear such a savage, threatening expression; he felt ill at ease, he was frightened, and he stammered:
“Madame, you—you—dis—dis—distress me; what—what—what’s the m—m—matter?”
Thélénie strove to calm herself as she replied:
“Why, nothing’s the matter, monsieur; only my nerves are on edge this morning, and the slightest thing upsets me, irritates me. Go on, I am listening.”