Where It Is Demonstrated That a Woman Never Speaks More Eloquently Than When She Holds Her Tongue
As Thibault was talking to himself he did not catch the few hurried words which Suzanne whispered to the Baron; and all he saw was that she appeared to totter, and then fell back into her lover’s arms, as if in a dead faint.
The Bailiff stopped short as he caught sight of this curious group, lit up by his candle. He was facing Thibault, and the latter endeavoured to read in Monsieur Magloire’s face what was passing in his mind.
But the Bailiff’s jovial physiognomy was not made by nature to express any strong emotion, and Thibault could detect nothing in it but a benevolent astonishment on the part of the amiable husband.
The Baron, also, evidently detected nothing more, for with a coolness and ease of manner, which produced on Thibault a surprise beyond expression, he turned to the Bailiff, and asked:
“Well, friend Magloire, and how do you carry your wine this evening?”
“Why, is it you, my lord?” replied the Bailiff opening his fat little eyes. “Ah! pray excuse me, and believe me, had I known I was to have the honour of seeing you here, I should not have allowed myself to appear in such an unsuitable costume.”
“Pooh-pooh! nonsense!”
“Yes, indeed, my lord; you must permit me to go and make a little toilette.”