She did so.
“Where can we meet again?” said he.
“Rue de Constantinople.”
“Ah! the rooms are not let, then?”
“No, I kept them on.”
“You kept them on?”
“Yes, I thought you would come back again.”
A gush of joyful pride swelled his bosom. She loved him then, this woman, with a real, deep, constant love.
He murmured, “I love you,” and then inquired, “Is your husband quite well?”
“Yes, very well. He has been spending a month at home, and was off again the day before yesterday.”
Du Roy could not help laughing. “How lucky,” said he.
She replied simply: “Yes, it is very lucky. But, all the same, he is not troublesome when he is here. You know that.”
“That is true. Besides, he is a very nice fellow.”
“And you,” she asked, “how do you like your new life?”
“Not much one way or the other. My wife is a companion, a partner.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more. As to the heart—”