He had a wife living, she knew, and sons serving in the Prussian Army. Perhaps he had a daughter who loved him, too.... Perhaps she was thinking of him ... praying for his return in safety.... Oh, God!... The dreadful thought was not to be tolerated.... It must be driven away ... banished from the mind, if one was to carry out the plan....
All these thoughts volted through the brain under the white shawl in the passing of an instant. The next, she heard the shrill voice say:
"It is for Monseigneur to decide!... There is no difficulty about dinner—that is, provided Monseigneur can eat a good soup of artichokes made with cream!..."
His startlingly blue eyes laughed. He acquiesced, seeming to snuff the air with his deeply cut nostrils.
"There is nothing better than puree of artichokes—provided it serves as the prelude to a solid, sustaining, and well-cooked meal."
White Shawl shrilled:
"There might follow a six-pound trout, boiled, with sauce à la Tartare.... One came in this afternoon, fresh to a miracle, a fish from the Gauche near Montreuil."
He said to Bismarck-Böhlen:
"The trout of the Cauche are capital eating ... especially those caught in the upper part of the stream, a mile below Parenty. What else, Madame?"
She proclaimed in the raucous voice that made Bismarck-Böhlen grimace and shudder: