“The very remark I was about to make to you,” she replied. “You are looking pale, my dear.”
My dear! It was the first time she had ever addressed me with that familiarity! There was an insolent smile too on her face when she said the words.
“I am suffering from one of my bad headaches,” I answered coldly.
“Ah, indeed? Want of exercise, I suppose? A walk before dinner would have been just the thing for you.” She referred to the “walk” with a strange emphasis. Had she seen me go out? No matter if she had. The letters were safe now in Fanny’s hands.
“Come and have a smoke, Fosco,” said Sir Percival, rising, with another uneasy look at his friend.
“With pleasure, Percival, when the ladies have gone to bed,” replied the Count.
“Excuse me, Countess, if I set you the example of retiring,” I said. “The only remedy for such a headache as mine is going to bed.”
I took my leave. There was the same insolent smile on the woman’s face when I shook hands with her. Sir Percival paid no attention to me. He was looking impatiently at Madame Fosco, who showed no signs of leaving the room with me. The Count smiled to himself behind his book. There was yet another delay to that quiet talk with Sir Percival—and the Countess was the impediment this time.
IX
June 19th.—Once safely shut into my own room, I opened these pages, and prepared to go on with that part of the day’s record which was still left to write.