“No; quite the contrary.”
“Lie down again, my dear; I will stretch myself out on this couch; I shall not be sorry for a little rest myself. This hot sun affects my nerves.”
Madame Destival seemed disinclined to return to her bed; she walked about the room impatiently, and said:
“Oh, no! I don’t want to go to sleep again, it’s almost dinner-time.”
“How on earth did you ever succeed in sleeping here? Your husband makes such a noise with his ‘present arms,’ and his ‘ready, aim!’”
“It didn’t disturb me at all.”
“What did you do with Monsieur Dalville?”
“What did I do with him? Why, nothing.”
“I thought he was with you.”
“With me?”