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And when he at last jumped down off the chair, he said: "When you are arranging the press, Clotilde, don't touch the packages at the top; do you hear?" "Very well, master," she responded, for the third time, docilely. He laughed again, with the gaiety that was natural to him. "That is forbidden." "I know it, master."
And Clotilde, seized by a sort of awe, feeling the presence of the fate which rules over races, left the room softly, holding her breath; for she knew that it would mortify him exceedingly if he knew that she had been present. Long periods of prostration followed. January was very cold.
Clotilde had just finished arranging the little garments on the table when, lifting her eyes, she perceived before her the pastel of old King David, with his hand resting on the shoulder of Abishag the young Shunammite. And she, who now never smiled, felt her face flush with a thrill of tender and pleasing emotion.
That morning is Clotilde till my eyes turn over! She is all young heaven and the mountains for me! She's the filmy light above the mountains that weds white snow and sky. By the way, I dreamt last night she was half a woman, half a tree, and her hair was like a dead yewbough, which is as you know of a brown burnt-out colour, suitable to the popular conception of widows.
He had often wondered what he should do if he met Clotilde face to face. Should he bow to her or pretend not to see her? "I should not see her," thought he. When Duroy entered his rooms he thought: "I must change my apartments; these will not do any longer." He felt both nervous and gay, and said aloud to himself: "I must write to my father."
The missiles of the impassioned were discharged at the poor English: a customary volley in most places where they intrude after quitting their shores, if they diverge from the avenue of hotel-keepers and waiters: but Clotilde pointed out to him that her English friend was not showing coldness in devoting herself to her child.
Night fell, and an idea occurred to them, in order not to remain downstairs in the empty house to close up everything and eat their dinner upstairs. Clotilde quickly took up the dish of potatoes, the salt-cellar, and a fine decanter of water; while Pascal took charge of a basket of grapes, the first which they had yet gathered from an early vine at the foot of the terrace.
But she expected too much. Nothing so terrorizes a blushing girl as a blushing man. And then though they did sometimes digress Clotilde and her partner met to talk "business" in a purely literal sense. Aurora, after a time, had taken her money into her own keeping. "You mighd gid robb' ag'in, you know, 'Sieur Frowenfel'," she said.
She was a dainty brunette, attired in a simple, dark robe; a red rose in her black tresses seemed to accentuate her special character, and a young girl, or rather a child, for such she was, followed her. Mme. Forestier said: "Good evening, Clotilde." "Good evening, Madeleine."
He had gradually become more and more excited, and had so come to make this confession of his faith in the continuous and victorious work of animated nature. And Clotilde, who thus far had not spoken, pale from the catastrophe in which her plans had ended, at last opened her lips to ask: "Well, master, and what am I here?"
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