He replied, sitting down to table: “Exactly, and there is nothing in the way of it now that cuckold of a Forestier is dead.”
She said quietly, in a dry and hurt tone: “That joke is more than out of place, and I beg of you to put an end to it. It has lasted too long already.”
He was about to make an ironical answer, when a telegram was brought him, containing these words: “I had lost my senses. Forgive me, and come at four o’clock tomorrow to the Parc Monceau.”
He understood, and with heart suddenly filled with joy, he said to his wife, as he slipped the message into his pocket: “I will not do so any more, darling; it was stupid, I admit.”
And he began his dinner. While eating he kept repeating to himself the words: “I had lost my senses. Forgive me, and come at four o’clock tomorrow to the Parc Monceau.” So she was yielding. That meant: “I surrender, I am yours when you like and where you like.” He began to laugh, and Madeleine asked: “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he answered; “I was thinking of a priest I met just now, and who had a very comical mug.”
Du Roy arrived to the time at the appointed place next day. On the benches of the park were seated citizens overcome by heat, and careless nurses, who seemed to be dreaming while their children were rolling on the gravel of the paths. He found Madame Walter in the little antique ruins from which a spring flows. She was walking round the little circle of columns with an uneasy and unhappy air. As soon as he had greeted her, she exclaimed: “What a number of people there are in the garden.”
He seized the opportunity: “It is true; will you come somewhere else?”
“But where?”