"The Parisian!" cried Captain d'Haumont in a choking voice. "The Parisian!"
And he retraced his steps staggering like a drunken man.
Didier met the two women at the corner of the street almost frightened out of their senses. He calmed them in a faltering voice. The man, he said, had rushed away as soon as he caught sight of him. The d'Haumonts at once took leave of Giselle, who implored them to forgive her foolish outburst.
In the taxi in which they drove back to Cape Ferrat, Didier and Françoise exchanged but an occasional remark. She was in a state of depression. She thought that her husband would be annoyed with her for her remarks regarding his exaggerated kindness to Giselle.
She took his hand in hers, and was no little surprised and even alarmed to feel that it was icy cold.
"Oh, good gracious, how cold you are! Aren't you well, dear?"
"Yes, yes, I am quite well, I assure you."
She put her hand to his forehead and found that it was covered with an icy perspiration. She was startled.
"Something must be the matter with you. Do say something. Why don't you talk? I've never seen you like this before."
He endeavored to make a jest of it, but his voice was quite different from his usual voice. She began to weep.
"I don't know what has happened. I don't know what is the matter with you. You are concealing something from me."
He took her in his arms and kissed her in a sudden outburst of passion which was far from reassuring her.
"Only because you are grieved. You must know I worship you."
"I should die if I doubted it. But all the same, tell me that you love me. I like it. Take me in your arms again and kiss me . . . kiss me. Let us mingle our tears. It's so good."
"What nonsense we talk! We don't know why we are crying. We are behaving like children. It's a shame."
"So, my love, it's true. You are not hiding anything from me. You didn't face that wretched man?"
"No, I scarcely saw him. He literally took to his heels. I advised him not to show himself in this quarter again, that's all. We'll say no more about it."
They dropped the subject, and indeed the rest of the drive to the villa was passed in silence. Then, when they were in the house, she said:
"Listen, dear, you must let me take care of you. A moment ago you were as cold as ice, and now your hands are burning. You are still suffering from fever. It's only a short time since you recovered from your wounds, and we are behaving very unwisely. You must have caught a cold on leaving Madame d'Erlande's. . . . But what are you doing? Leave the doors. The servants will dose them."