She replied, with dignity: “No. Give him the hundred thousand francs he asks. Take them from my share, if you like.”
He muttered, shamefacedly: “Oh, no; we will share that. Giving up fifty thousand francs apiece, there still remains to us a clear million.” He added: “Goodbye, then, for the present, Made.” And he went off to explain to the notary the plan which he asserted had been imagined by his wife.
They signed the next day a deed of gift of five hundred thousand francs, which Madeleine Du Roy abandoned to her husband. On leaving the notary’s office, as the day was fine, George suggested that they should walk as far as the boulevards. He showed himself pleasant and full of attention and affection. He laughed, pleased at everything, while she remained thoughtful and somewhat severe.
It was a somewhat cool autumn day. The people in the streets seemed in a hurry, and walked rapidly. Du Roy led his wife to the front of the shop in which he had so often gazed at the longed-for chronometer. “Shall I stand you some jewelry?” said he.
She replied, indifferently: “Just as you like.”
They went in, and he asked: “What would you prefer—a necklace, a bracelet, or a pair of earrings?”
The sight of the trinkets in gold, and precious stones overcame her studied coolness, and she scanned with kindling and inquisitive eyes the glass cases filled with jewelry. And, suddenly moved by desire, said: “That is a very pretty bracelet.”
It was a chain of quaint pattern, every link of which had a different stone set in it.
George inquired: “How much is this bracelet?”