“You did very well, Bertrand; inspect, superintend, manage everything to suit yourself. I am going to change my clothes; then I will go up to see my neighbor; and to-morrow I will attend to more serious affairs.”
“Excellent young man!” said Bertrand, following Auguste with his eyes. “He leaves me in control here. But tasting his wines isn’t the whole thing; that isn’t enough; I propose to make myself useful to him in spite of him, and I will go down and have a talk with Madame Schtrack about the little man who goes up to our neighbor’s room.”
Madame Saint-Edmond greeted Auguste with an offended air; she was melancholy, her eyes were red, she still held her handkerchief in her hand. It is true that, as she had learned of Auguste’s return, she was expecting a call from him. Dalville inquired sympathetically what the cause of her depression might be; she refused to confide in him; but she let drop a word or two concerning the woman she had met in his rooms; these words were followed by stifled sighs and sarcastic laughter, and Madame Saint-Edmond added to each of her comments:
“You are entirely at liberty, monsieur, to receive whomever you choose.”
Auguste, touched by Léonie’s apparent suffering, succeeded in tranquillizing the pretty blonde, who consented at last to make peace with her neighbor on condition that she should never again meet in his rooms that woman who had made impertinent speeches to her, and the mere sight of whom would throw her into hysterics. Auguste promised; in love, as in politics, one always makes more promises than one intends to keep.
But Léonie was still pensive and preoccupied.
“Something is troubling you,” said Auguste.
“No; oh, no! nothing, I assure you,” replied the pretty blonde, in a tone which meant the exact opposite.
“But it is perfectly evident to me that you are concealing something from me.”
“Why, no, you are mistaken; at all events it doesn’t concern you at all.”