Fauchery was growing increasingly excited with the Countess Sabine's laughter.

As he was passing her a dish of fruit their hands touched, and for one second she looked at him with eyes so full of dark meaning that he once more thought of the secret which had been communicated to him one evening after an uproarious dinner.

Then, too, she was no longer the same woman.
Something was more pronounced than of old, and her gray foulard gown which fitted loosely over her shoulders added a touch of license to her delicate, high-strung elegance.
When they rose from the table Daguenet remained behind with Fauchery in order to impart to him the following crude witticism about Estelle: "A nice broomstick that to shove into a man's hands!" Nevertheless, he grew serious when the journalist told him the amount she was worth in the way of dowry.
"Four hundred thousand francs." "And the mother ?" queried Fauchery.

"She's all right, eh ?" "Oh, SHE'LL work the oracle! But it's no go, my dear man!" "Bah! How are we to know?
We must wait and see." It was impossible to go out that day, for the rain was still falling in heavy showers.

Georges had made haste to disappear from the scene and had double-locked his door.