I did not go on to the village after that, but returned to the house, where I found Madame pacing the garden. She looked up eagerly on hearing my step; and I was mistaken if she was not disappointed—if she had not been expecting someone else. She hid the feeling bravely, however, and met me with a careless word; but she turned to the house more than once while we talked, and she seemed to be all the while on the watch, and uneasy. I was not surprised when Clon’s figure presently appeared in the doorway, and she left me abruptly, and went to him. I only felt more certain than before that there was something strange on foot. What it was, and whether it had to do with M. de Cocheforet, I could not tell. But there it was, and I grew more curious the longer I remained alone.
She came back to me presently, looking thoughtful and a trifle downcast.
‘That was Clon, was it not?’ I said, studying her face.
‘Yes,’ she answered. She spoke absently, and did not look at me.
‘How does he talk to you?’ I asked, speaking a trifle curtly.
As I intended, my tone roused her. ‘By signs,’ she said.
‘Is he—is he not a little mad?’ I ventured. I wanted to make her talk and forget herself.
She looked at me with sudden keenness, then dropped her eyes.
‘You do not like him?’ she said, a note of challenge in her voice. ‘I have noticed that, Monsieur.’
‘I think he does not like me,’ I replied.