She said: “Because—” hesitated, and then continued: “Because you are my husband, and have only known him for a short time, after all—because I have been his friend for a very long while—and because his first will, made during Forestier’s lifetime, was already in my favor.”
George began to stride up and down. He said: “You cannot accept.”
She replied in a tone of indifference: “Precisely so; then it is not worth while waiting till Saturday, we can let Maitre Lamaneur know at once.”
He stopped short in front of her, and they again stood for some moments with their eyes riveted on one another, striving to fathom the impenetrable secret of their hearts, to cut down to the quick of their thoughts. They tried to see one another’s conscience unveiled in an ardent and mute interrogation; the struggle of two beings who, living side by side, were always ignorant of one another, suspecting, sniffing round, watching, but never understanding one another to the muddy depths of their souls. And suddenly he murmured to her face, in a low voice: “Come, admit that you were De Vaudrec’s mistress.”
She shrugged her shoulders, saying: “You are ridiculous. Vaudrec was very fond of me, very—but there was nothing more—never.”
He stamped his foot. “You lie. It is not possible.”
She replied, quietly: “It is so, though.”
He began to walk up and down again, and then, halting once more, said: “Explain, then, how he came to leave the whole of his fortune to you.”
She did so in a careless and disinterested tone, saying: “It is quite simple. As you said just now, he had only ourselves for friends, or rather myself, for he has known me from a child. My mother was a companion at the house of some relatives of his. He was always coming here, and as he had no natural heirs he thought of me. That there was a little love for me in