"Something quite unexpected," replied the banker, laughing nervously.
"Madame refuses to follow me."

"And for what reason?" she asked.

"She dare not speak!" Cayrol resumed, whose excitement increased as he
spoke. "It appears she has in her heart an unhappy love! And as I do
not resemble the dreamed-of type, Madame has repugnances. But you
understand the affair is not going to end there. It is not usual to come
and say to a husband, twelve hours after marriage, 'Sir, I am very sorry,
but I love somebody else!' It would be too convenient. I shall not lend
myself to these whims."

"Cayrol, oblige me by speaking in a, lower tone," said Madame
Desvarennes, quietly. "There is some misunderstanding between you and
this child."

The husband shrugged his broad shoulders.

"A misunderstanding? Faith! I think so! You have a delicacy of
language which pleases me! A misunderstanding! Say rather a shameful
deception! But I want to know the gentleman's name. She will have to
speak. I am not a scented, educated gentleman. I am a peasant, and if I
have to--"

"Enough," said Madame Desvarennes, sharply tapping with the tips of her
fingers Cayrol's great fist which he held menacingly like a butcher about
to strike. Then, taking him quietly aside toward the window, she added: