"But he wishes us to arrive for _déjeuner_."

"We will take it here. Perhaps we will drive over in the
afternoon--perhaps the next day."

And the young lady gazed at her mother with an air of indifference--or
rather it seemed to me strangely like one of aversion and defiance.

"My dear!" cried the elder in consternation. "My dearest Marie!"

"It is just as I thought," said I to myself complacently.

Marie Delhasse--for beyond doubt it was she--walked slowly across the room
and sat down by her mother. I took a table nearer the door; the waiter
appeared, and I ordered a light supper. Marie poured out a glass of wine
from a bottle on the table; apparently they had been supping. They began
to converse together in low tones. My repast arriving, I fell to. A few
moments later, I heard Marie say, in her composed indolent tones:

"I'm not sure I shall go at all. _Entre nous_, he bores me."

I stole a glance at Mme. Delhasse. Consternation was writ large on her
face, and suspicion besides. She gave her daughter a quick sidelong
glance, and a frown gathered on her brow. So far as I heard, however, she
attempted no remonstrance. She rose, wrapping a shawl round her, and made
for the door. I sprang up and opened it; she walked out. Marie drew a
chair to the fire and sat down with her back to me, toasting her feet--for
the summer night had turned chilly. I finished my supper. The clock struck
half-past eleven. I stifled a yawn; one smoke and then to the bed was my
programme.