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Then
she
unfolded
her
napkin
as
if
to
examine
the
darns
,
and
she
really
thought
of
applying
herself
to
this
work
,
counting
the
threads
in
the
linen
.
Suddenly
the
remembrance
of
the
letter
returned
to
her
.
How
had
she
lost
it
?
Where
could
she
find
it
?
But
she
felt
such
weariness
of
spirit
that
she
could
not
even
invent
a
pretext
for
leaving
the
table
.
Then
she
became
a
coward
;
she
was
afraid
of
Charles
;
he
knew
all
,
that
was
certain
!
Indeed
he
pronounced
these
words
in
a
strange
manner
:
"
We
are
not
likely
to
see
Monsieur
Rodolphe
soon
again
,
it
seems
.
"
"
Who
told
you
?
"
she
said
,
shuddering
.
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"
Who
told
me
!
"
he
replied
,
rather
astonished
at
her
abrupt
tone
.
"
Why
,
Girard
,
whom
I
met
just
now
at
the
door
of
the
Cafe
Francais
.
He
has
gone
on
a
journey
,
or
is
to
go
.
"
She
gave
a
sob
.
"
What
surprises
you
in
that
?
He
absents
himself
like
that
from
time
to
time
for
a
change
,
and
,
ma
foi
,
I
think
he
's
right
,
when
one
has
a
fortune
and
is
a
bachelor
.
Besides
,
he
has
jolly
times
,
has
our
friend
.
He
's
a
bit
of
a
rake
.
Monsieur
Langlois
told
me
--
"
He
stopped
for
propriety
's
sake
because
the
servant
came
in
.
She
put
back
into
the
basket
the
apricots
scattered
on
the
sideboard
.
Charles
,
without
noticing
his
wife
's
colour
,
had
them
brought
to
him
,
took
one
,
and
bit
into
it
.
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"
Ah
!
perfect
!
"
said
he
;
"
just
taste
!
"
And
he
handed
her
the
basket
,
which
she
put
away
from
her
gently
.
"
Do
just
smell
!
What
an
odour
!
"
he
remarked
,
passing
it
under
her
nose
several
times
.