"I have a little fear of Laurence's future," said she at last.
"Bah! Why?"
"I only say what I've heard you say. You told me that Monsieur
Tremorel has been a libertine, a gambler, a prodigal--"
"All the more reason for trusting him. His past follies guarantee
his future prudence. He has received a lesson which he will not
forget. Besides, he will love his wife."
"How do you know?"
"Parbleu, he loves her already."
"Who told you so?"
"Himself."
And Sauvresy began to laugh about Hector's passion, which he said
was becoming quite pastoral.
"Would you believe," said he, laughing, "that he thinks our worthy
Courtois a man of wit? Ah, what spectacles these lovers look
through! He spends two or three hours every day with the mayor.
What do you suppose he does there?"
Bertha, by great effort, succeeded in dissembling her grief; she
reappeared with a smiling face. She went and came, apparently calm,
though suffering the bitterest anguish a woman can endure. And she
could not run to Hector, and ask him if it were true!
For Sauvresy must be deceiving her. Why? She knew not. No matter.
She felt her hatred of him increasing to disgust; for she excused
and pardoned her lover, and she blamed her husband alone.
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