"Well, then, you were right just now; not only Marcel, and his brothers too, for that matter, are better at Bracieux than anywhere else, but he has nothing the matter with him." As M. de Rueille looked surprised, she continued, in a tranquil way: "It is Marcel's father who is not quite himself, who needs a change of air, and who will, I am sure, decide on having a change." "Well, really," he stammered out, "I do not know what you mean." "I mean that you must leave Bracieux for a time," she answered, speaking very distinctly. "Do you particularly wish me to tell you why?" "I do." "You are unwise to insist. You know that in a general way I never interfere in anything that you choose to do, or leave undone." "Yes, you have always been very sweet and very sensible about everything," said M. de Rueille, "and I thoroughly appreciate--" "Oh, there is no need to say anything about all that. I have always left you quite free to act in every way as you preferred, and now, in this matter, I do not bear you any ill-feeling whatever, and I should never have spoken to you of it if I had not seen that you are going too far. I have confidence in you, so that I know you will be on your guard; but I know how fascinating Bijou is, and I can see perfectly well that, next to poor young Giraud, you are the one who is the most infatuated." "Yes, you are quite right, I am infatuated; but, as you say yourself, there is no danger whatever, and whether I go away, or whether I stay here, it is all the same; that will make no difference whatever." "Yes! if you stay you will certainly make yourself ridiculous, and probably wretched, too. I am speaking to you now just as a friend might. Let us go away; believe me, it would be better." "Well, but when we came back again--for we should come back, shouldn't we? in two months at the latest--things would, be exactly as they were before." "No, it would be quite different," she answered carelessly. "In two months' time she will be married, or nearly so." "Married!" exclaimed M. de Rueille, astounded. "Married! Jean is going to marry her, then?" "Why, no! Jean is not going to marry her. He's another one who would do well to make himself scarce." "Well, if it is not Jean, I do not see--it is not Henry, I presume?" "No, not Henry either. He understands perfectly well that, with what he has, he cannot marry Bijou." "Well, who is it, then? Who is it?" "Why, no one at all--that is, no one in particular." "You spoke, on the contrary, as though you were affirming something that was quite settled. You said: _In two months' time she will be married, or nearly so_. What did you mean by that? Why don't you want to tell me? You have been told not to? It is a secret?" "No, it is merely a supposition, I assure you, that is all." "And this supposition you will not tell me?" "No." After a short silence Madame de Rueille began again: