"And what did it answer you?"

"Pa.s.sionately."

"Oh, well, it was answering about everybody." And Jeanne added, as she mounted the little flight of stone steps just behind her friend: "It's quite true; everybody loves you; and you deserve to be loved--there!"

When the two girls entered the room where everyone was a.s.sembled, their arrival seemed to have the effect of bringing some animation into the faces of all the people.

"At last, and not before it was time!" murmured Henry de Bracieux, in a way which caused his grandmother to glance at him, whilst M. de Clagny stepped quickly forward to meet Bijou.

"That's right," she said pleasantly; "how good of you to come again so soon to see us!"

"Too good! You'll have too much of me before long!"

"Never!" she answered, smiling merrily; and then taking Jeanne's hand, she introduced her. "Jeanne Dubuisson--my best friend--whom I shall lose now, because she is going to be married!"

"But why do you say that, Bijou?" exclaimed the young girl reproachfully. "You know very well that, married or not married, I shall always be your friend."

"Yes--everyone says that; but it isn't the same thing! When one is married one does not belong to one's parents or friends any more, one belongs to one's husband--and to him alone."

"How delightful such delusions are!" murmured M. de Clagny.

Bijou turned towards him abruptly.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Oh, it was just nonsense!"

"No; I quite understand that you were laughing at me. Yes, I understand perfectly well; it's no good shaking your head, I know all the same that you were making fun of me, because I said that when one is married one belongs only to one's husband! Well, that may be very ridiculous, but it is my idea, and I believe it is M. Spiegel's, too?"

The young man smiled and nodded without answering.

"Has anyone introduced M. Spiegel?" continued Bijou, still addressing the count. "No? well, then, I will repair such negligence. Monsieur Spiegel, Jeanne's _fiance_, who does not dare to support me, and declare that I am right, because he is not in the majority here; there is no one here who is married but himself--that is to say, nearly married."

"Oh, indeed, and what about Paul?" asked the marchioness, laughing.

"Paul! Oh, yes, that's true; I was not thinking of him! Anyhow, the unmarried persons are in the majority--Henry, Pierrot, Monsieur Courteil, M. Giraud, Jean--well, what's the matter with Jean? he does look queer!"

Jean de Blaye was seated in an arm-chair, with his eyes half-closed and his head resting on his hand, looking very drowsy.

"I have a headache!" he answered; and then, as Bijou persisted, and wanted to know what had given him a headache, he exclaimed gruffly: "Well, what do you want me to say? It's a headache; how can I tell what's given it me? It comes itself how it likes--that's all I know!"

Bijou had gone behind the arm-chair in which her cousin was lounging.

"You must have a very, very bad headache to look as you do," she said, not at all discouraged by his abrupt manner, and noticing his pale face, his drawn features, and his eyes, with dark circles round them, "and for you to own, too, that there is anything the matter with you; because you always set up for being so strong and well. Poor Jean, I do wish you could get rid of it."

She bent forward, and pressing her lips gently on the young man's weary eyelids, remained like that a few seconds.

Jean de Blaye turned pale, and then very red, and rose hastily from his chair.

"You startled me," he said, in an embarra.s.sed way, not knowing where to look, "how stupid I am; but I did not see you were so near, so you quite surprised me."

M. de Clagny had risen, too, in an excited way on seeing Bijou kiss her cousin. It occurred to him though, at once, how very ridiculous his jealousy would appear, and he sat down again, saying in a jesting tone:

"Well, if that remedy does not take effect, de Blaye's case is incurable."

M. de Rueille looked enviously at Jean, who was just going out of the drawing-room, and then, turning to Bijou, he remarked, in a hoa.r.s.e voice:

"When I have a headache, and, unfortunately, that is very often, you are not so compa.s.sionate."

M. Giraud remained petrified in the little low chair in which he had taken his seat. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and his lips pressed closely together; he looked as though he had seen nothing.

As for Pierrot, he exclaimed candidly:

"What a lucky beggar that Jean is!"

"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," replied Abbe Courteil, with conviction; "but, all the same, he certainly has a very bad headache--Monsieur de Blaye. I know what it is to have a headache."

The marchioness bent forward to whisper to Bertrade, whilst looking all the time at Bijou.

"Isn't she sweet, that child, and so good-hearted, and, above all, so natural. Did you see how innocently she kissed that simpleton of a Jean, and how it startled him?"

"Oh! as to startling him! he was rather upset by it, poor fellow, and he wanted to explain away the fact that he was upset by it; that is about all."

"Do you think so? with him, one never knows."

"You did not notice that he went off at once, without even saying good-bye to M. Dubuisson and M. Spiegel, who are just going away."

The marchioness turned towards the two men in question, who were just coming across to take leave.

"As we are keeping your Jeanne," she said, "I hope you will often come to see her."

"Are you quite sure that you don't mind staying at Bracieux?" Bijou asked her friend; "I shall not be angry with you, you know, for preferring your _fiance_ to me."

"Spiegel is obliged to go to Paris for a few days," said M. Dubuisson; "on his return I shall come with him to fetch Jeanne back."

On leaving the drawing-room, a few minutes before, Jean de Blaye had felt thoroughly wretched. Bijou's innocent kiss, given so openly before everyone, had, as a matter of fact, thoroughly upset him rousing again the love which he felt for the young girl, and which he had hoped would remain dormant, since Madame de Nezel was ready to console him with her affection.

Only the evening before he had said to the young widow: "How can I love that child as I love you?" and when he had uttered these words, he had, for the time being, felt his old love for Madame de Nezel returning, and it had seemed to him that Bijou could never inspire the same pa.s.sion as he had felt for this woman. And now, after hoping that he had conquered his love for the young girl, her kiss had completely undone him, and left him helpless to struggle against himself any longer.

He felt now that from henceforth he ought not to continue to claim Madame de Nezel's affection, since he could no longer return it; and as he thought of all that this affection had been to him in the past, he suffered intensely. For the last four years this woman had loved him with a devotion that had known no bounds, and, whilst Madame de Bracieux, M. de Jonzac, the Rueilles, and, indeed, all his family, had imagined that he was living a very gay life, he had been spending his time peacefully and happily in the society of Madame de Nezel.

They had understood each other perfectly, and no one had suspected anything of the sympathy which had thus drawn them together, so that Jean had always been criticised for those actions of his which were known to the world, and he had been perfectly satisfied that things should be thus. Now, however, all would be changed. He would have to give up this peaceful happiness which had been so much to him.

And why should he, after all? Did he intend to tell Bijou of his love for her? And even supposing that she did not reject his love, was he in a position to marry this fragile and exquisite girl, who had certainly been created for the most luxurious surroundings?

He had already thought it all over many times and had said to himself, over and over again, that it would be absurdly foolish. Then, too, Bijou would never love him well enough to accept him with his extremely moderate income. As he had promised Madame de Nezel to meet her the following day at Pont-sur-Loire, he wrote her a few lines in order to excuse himself.