Jeanne turned away abruptly.  Cayrol’s comparison was too direct.  His blunders were becoming wearisome.

The banker, quite discomfited on seeing the effect of his words, continued: 

“You object to this journey?  If so, I am willing to give it up.”

The young wife was touched by this humble servility.

“Well, yes,” she said, softly, “I should be grateful to you.”

“I had hoped to please you,” said Cayrol.  “It is for me to beg pardon for having succeeded so badly.  Let us remain in Paris.  It does not matter to me what place we are in!  Being near to you is all I desire.”

He approached her, and, with beaming eyes, added: 

“You are so beautiful, Jeanne; and I have loved you so long a time!”

She moved away, full of a vague dread.  Cayrol, very excitedly, put her cloak round her shoulders, and looking toward the door, added: 

“The carriage is there, we can go now.”

Jeanne, much troubled, did not rise.

“Wait another minute,” said she.

Cayrol smiled constrainedly: 

“A little while ago you were hurrying me off.”

It was true.  But a sudden change had come over Jeanne.  Her energy had given way.  She felt very weary.  The idea of going away with Cayrol, and of being alone with him in the carriage frightened her.  She looked vaguely at her husband, and saw, in a sort of mist, this great fat man, with a protruding shirt-front, rolls of red flesh on his neck above his collar, long fat ears which only needed gold ear-rings, and his great hairy hands, on the finger of one of which shone the new wedding-ring.  Then, in a rapid vision, she beheld the refined profile, the beautiful blue eyes, and the long, fair mustache of Serge.  A profound sadness came over the young woman, and tears rushed to her eyes.

“What is the matter with you?  You are crying!” exclaimed Cayrol, anxiously.

“It is nothing; my nerves are shaken.  I am thinking of this chateau which bears my name.  Here I spent my youth, and here my father died.  A thousand ties bind me to this dwelling, and I cannot leave it without being overcome.”

“Another home awaits you, luxuriantly adorned,” murmured Cayrol, “and worthy of receiving you.  It is there you will live henceforth with me, happy through me, and belonging to me.”

Then, ardently supplicating her, he added: 

“Let us go, Jeanne!”

He tried to take her in his arms, but the young wife disengaged herself.

“Leave me alone!” she said, moving away.

Cayrol looked at her in amazement.

“What is it?  You are trembling and frightened!”

He tried to jest: 

“Am I so very terrible, then?  Or is it the idea of leaving here that troubles you so much?  If so, why did you not tell me sooner?  I can understand things.  Let us remain here for a few days, or as long as you like.  I have arranged my affairs so as to be at liberty.  Our little paradise can wait for us.”