Léonie heaved a more profound sigh than before, and as she had no handkerchief, she lifted a corner of her peignoir and put it to her eyes. That movement discovered some very seductive things; but when one is weeping, one cannot think of everything, and when one’s eyes are covered, one cannot see what one has disclosed.
Auguste, distrusting his weakness, continued to lean over the rail, and did not take his eyes from the concierge’s door.
“Well, Tony, are you coming back to-night?” he cried.
Léonie walked to where he stood and said in a touching voice:
“Mon Dieu! what on earth have I done to you, monsieur?”
“What have you done to me, madame? Why, it seems to me that you know quite as well as I do.”
“Oh! monsieur, how can an intelligent man trust appearances?”
“It seems to me, madame, that no intelligence was required to see what I saw.”
“Why, what did you see, monsieur? May not a woman dine with a man at a restaurant without having the slightest preference for him? And you yourself, monsieur—what were you doing with that creature who had the impertinence to hold a mustard pot under my nose?”
“Oh! I am more honest than you, madame: I admit that I deceived you.”