He spoke pleasantly, but with an undercurrent of anxiety.

Jeanne came slowly to him, and calmly taking his hand, said: 

“You are very good.”

“I am not making any efforts to be so,” retorted Cayrol, smiling.  “What do I ask?  That you may be happy and satisfied.”

“Well, do you wish to please me?” asked the young wife.

“Yes!” exclaimed Cayrol, warmly, “tell me how.”

“Madame Desvarennes will be very lonely tomorrow when her daughter will be gone.  She will need consoling—­”

“Ah, ah,” said Cayrol, thinking that he understood, “and you would like—­”

“I would like to remain some time with her.  You could come every day and see us.  I would be very grateful to you, and would love you very much!”

“But—­but—­but—!” exclaimed Cayrol, much confounded, “you cannot mean what you say, Jeanne!  What, my dear?  You wish me to return alone to Paris to-night?  What would my servants say?  You would expose me to ridicule!”

Poor Cayrol made a piteous face.  Jeanne looked at him as she had never looked before.  It made his blood boil.

“Would you be so very ridiculous for having been delicate and tender?”

“I don’t see what tenderness has to do with it,” cried Cayrol; “on the contrary!  But I love you.  You don’t seem to think it!”

“Prove it,” replied Jeanne, more provokingly.

This time Cayrol lost all patience.

“Is it in leaving you that I shall prove it?  Really, Jeanne, I am disposed to be kind and to humor your whims, but on condition that they are reasonable.  You seem to be making fun of me!  If I give way on such important points on the day of our marriage, whither will you lead me?  No; no!  You are my wife.  The wife must follow her husband; the law says so!”

“Is it by law only that you wish to keep me?  Have you forgotten what I told you when you made me an offer of marriage?  It is my hand only which I give you.”

“And I answered you, that it would be my aim to gain your heart.  Well, but give me the means.  Come, dear,” said the banker in a resolute tone, “you take me for a child.  I am not so simple as that!  I know what this resistance means; charming modesty so long as it is not everlasting.”

Jeanne turned away without answering.  Her face had changed its expression; it was hard and determined.

“Really,” continued Cayrol, “you would make a saint lose patience.  Come, answer me, what does this attitude mean?”

The young wife remained silent.  She felt she could not argue any longer, and seeing no way out of her trouble, felt quite discouraged.  Still she would not yield.  She shuddered at the very idea of belonging to this man; she had never thought of the issue of this brutal and vulgar adventure.  Now that she realized it, she felt terribly disgusted.

Cayrol anxiously watched the increasing anguish depicted on his wife’s face.  He had a presentiment that she was hiding something from him, and the thought nearly choked him.  And, with this suspicion, his ingenuity came to his aid.  He approached Jeanne, and said, affectionately: