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Gilberte drew herself up, and, looking her mother straight in the eyes, with her beautiful, clear glance, "Would you suspect me of something wrong, then?" she exclaimed. Mme. Favoral stopped her with a gesture. "A young girl who conceals something from her mother always does wrong," she uttered.
"Oh! excuse me; I must go and try to pick up some news. One can't tell whether his neck is safe or not." Then, touching his lips to his wife's hair: "My poor Gilberte, to think that a shell may burn us out of house and home at any moment! It is horrible." She was very pale; she raised her head and glanced about her, shuddering as she did so.
And as they were looking at him, staring, stupid with astonishment, "Well, what of it?" he added with an oath. "Isn't it well, once in a while, to scatter the coins a little?" Those unexpected thousand francs Maxence and Mlle. Gilberte applied to the purchase of a shawl, which their mother had wished for ten years.
And there was another day on which she said to me: "You know, you may call me 'Gilberte'; in any case, I'm going to call you by your first name. It's too silly not to."
But this did not happen every day; there were days when she had been prevented from coming by her lessons, by her catechism, by a luncheon-party, by the whole of that life, separated from my own, which twice only, condensed into the name of Gilberte, I had felt pass so painfully close to me, in the hawthorn lane near Combray and on the grass of the Champs-Elysees.
Could any one understand the same man at once miserly-economical and madly-prodigal, storming when his wife spent a few cents, and robbing to supply the expenses of an adventuress, and collecting in the same drawer the jeweler's accounts and the butcher's bills? "It is the climax of absurdity," murmured good M. Desormeaux. Maxence fairly shook with wrath. Mlle. Gilberte was weeping. Mme.
The pair always came out of their discussions better friends than when they went in; one delighted to have had an opportunity of hearing himself talk, the other pleased with himself for having displayed a truly Parisian urbanity. One evening Gilberte came into the room, with her air of thoughtless gayety. She paused at the threshold, affecting embarrassment.
Gilberte was pale, her face sad and drawn, and she was leaning one hand on her husband's shoulder as if she were going to faint. Jeanne understood now that the comte loved her madly. After this the comtesse for some months seemed happier than she had ever been. She came to the "Poplars" more frequently, laughed continually and kissed Jeanne impulsively.
But he controlled himself, and, in a more quiet tone, "Thanks to the indiscretion of Pulei," he added, "I was in hopes of seeing you, but not to have the happiness of speaking to you. I had written " He drew from his pocket a large envelope, and, handing it to Mlle. Gilberte, "Here is the letter," he continued, "which I intended for you.
And she wished the morrow to come, that she might announce her happiness to the very involuntary and very unconscious accomplice of Marius, the worthy Maestro Gismondo Pulei. The next day M. Favoral seemed to have resigned himself to the failure of his projects; and, the following Saturday, he told as a pleasant joke, how Mlle. Gilberte had carried the day, and had managed to dismiss her lover.
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