Part 43 (2/2)
”Oh, Jean, how can you say such things? You know very well that I love you, though not in the way you want me to, or as I should like to be able to, but very much, all the same; indeed I do.”
She put her hand on his shoulder, obliging him to stand still, and then pa.s.sed her hand over his eyes.
”Oh, Jean,” she exclaimed, in great grief, ”tears, and all because of me! Oh, please, don't--no, indeed you must not; do you hear me, Jean?”
He took the little hand, which was stroking his face, and kissed it pa.s.sionately. Then putting Bijou, who was clinging to him, gently aside, he left her abruptly, and strode off alone.
XIII.
”THEN, you really mean that you are going?” asked Bijou sorrowfully, as Jeanne Dubuisson folded her dresses into the tray of a long basket trunk.
”Yes,” answered the young girl, absorbed in what she was doing, and without even looking up. ”I have been here a long time; it would be taking advantage to stay longer, you know.”
”You know very well that it would be nothing of the kind; and it was almost settled that you were to stay until Monday, and then, all at once, you changed your mind. What is the matter?”
”Why, nothing at all. What do you imagine could be the matter?”
”If I knew, I should not ask you. Come, now! what can it be? you don't seem to find things too dull?”
”Oh, Bijou, however could I find things dull?”
”Oh, well, you might; and yet, you see your _fiance_ almost as much as when you were at Pont-sur-Loire.”
”Oh, no--”
”Oh, yes; let us reckon, shall we? M. Spiegel went to Paris for Sat.u.r.day, Sunday, and Monday; Tuesday he came here to dinner with M.
Dubuisson; Wednesday he came alone; Thursday he managed to swallow the confirmation luncheon, poor man; Friday he was here to dinner; and every day we have been rehearsing our play either before or after dinner, so that he has never been away from you.”
”Yes, that's true,” answered Jeanne reluctantly; ”but if he has not been away from me, he has scarcely troubled about me at all.”
”How do you mean?”
”How? Oh! it is simple enough! He has only troubled about you; he has talked to no one but you.”
”To me?”
”Yes, to you--there! I may as well own it, Bijou; I am jealous--frightfully jealous.”
”Jealous of whom? Of me?” asked Denyse, with a startled look.
Mademoiselle Dubuisson nodded, and then she proceeded to explain, whilst the tears rose to her eyes:
”You must forgive me for telling you this. I can see that I am causing you pain, but it is better, is it not, to tell the truth, than to let you suspect all kinds of wrong reasons? You are not angry with me?”
”No; not at all!” And then Bijou added sorrowfully: ”It is you who ought rather to be angry with me. But you are mistaken, I a.s.sure you!
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