me, and I didn't want to go and sadden you all."

At this Guillaume hastily waved his hand. "If you fancy that your absence
enlivens us you're mistaken," he replied. "Marie, who is usually so well
and happy, had such a bad headache on the day before yesterday that she
was obliged to keep her room. And she was ill at ease and nervous and
silent again yesterday. We spent a very unpleasant day."

As he spoke Guillaume looked Pierre well in the face, his frank loyal
eyes clearly revealing the suspicions which had come to him, but which he
would not express in words.

Pierre, quite dismayed by the news of Marie's indisposition, and
frightened by the idea of betraying his secret, thereupon managed to tell
a lie. "Yes, she wasn't very well on the day when we went cycling," he
quietly responded. "But I assure you that I have had a lot to do here.
When you came in just now I was about to get up and go to your house as
usual."

Guillaume kept his eyes on him for a moment longer. Then, either
believing him or deciding to postpone his search for the truth to some
future time, he began speaking affectionately on other subjects. With his
keen brotherly love, however, there was blended such a quiver of
impending distress, of unconfessed sorrow, which possibly he did not yet
realise, that Pierre in his turn began to question him. "And you," said
he, "are you ill? You seem to me to have lost your usual serenity."

"I? Oh! I'm not ill. Only I can't very well retain my composure; Salvat's
affair distresses me exceedingly, as you must know. They will all end by
driving me mad with the monstrous injustice they show towards that