“To think that I’ve forgotten my overshoes, which I never fail to take with me to the country!”
“The country, father?” said Jeanne, “why, Bourges is a city!—”
“To be sure—to be sure,” answered M. Charnot, who feared he had hurt my feelings.
He put on his spectacles and began to study the old houses around him.
“Yes, a city; really quite a city.”
I do not remember what commonplace I stammered.
Little did I care for M. Charnot’s overshoes or the honor of Bourges at that moment! On the other side of the wall, a few feet off, I felt the presence of M. Mouillard. I reflected that I should have to open the door and launch the Academician, without preface, into the presence of the lawyer, stake my life’s happiness, perhaps, on my uncle’s first impressions, play at any rate the decisive move in the game which had been so disastrously opened.
Jeanne, though she did her best to hide it, was extremely nervous. I felt her hand tremble in mine as I took it.
“Trust in God!” she whispered, and aloud: “Open the door.”
I turned the key in the lock. I had arranged that Madeleine should go at once to M. Mouillard and tell him that there were some strangers waiting in the garden. But either she was not on the lookout, or she did not at once perceive us, and we had to wait a few minutes at the bottom of the lawn before any one came.