He didn’t expect his wife to stop his doing what he wanted, but she ought to be so effective, so in the center of things as to prevent his wanting it, and Rose wouldn’t come into the center of things. She remained in the background, trusting him. He felt the burden of her confidence checking him at every turn. There was danger, and she didn’t see danger. Was she going to walk straight through it, with her wonderful blue eyes forever unaware? She ought to have realized that however noble a man is, and however unhappy a woman, a situation in which, from the best motives, they are constantly thrown together, needs watching. A most unfortunate thing had already happened. Madame had discovered, from an unguarded remark of Léon’s, that he had talked with her husband about her. Madame Gérard had a constructive mind--if two and two were anywhere about, it did not take her long to arrive at four. Instantly she understood: this new companionship, the devout attention of her husband’s friend was nothing at all but a plot between the two men to play with her broken heart! She knew their aim; it was to make her compliant to the lowest needs of one who had not so much affection for her as a stray dog for the hand that strokes it. To say that Madame Gérard was angry at this discovery is to underestimate the uses of language. She was attacked by a bitter fury of outraged pride. Léon had brought back her pride, then, simply in order to outrage it! But this time she kept her head. Any woman can keep her head with a man with whom she is not in love. Madame Gérard knew herself to be standing with her back to the wall, fighting for her life against two men, one of them at least she could injure. She gave herself a moment of despair, her small hand clutched fiercely at a little stone beside the path near which they sat--her hidden eyes burned with unshed tears. For a long moment she held herself in silence, while she let Léon cover up his mistake as if she had not heard him; then, being a practical woman, she put despair away till afterwards: besides, despair could only hurt herself. It was a pity that in destroying Léon’s marriage she should have to destroy Rose’s. Enraged as she was, she thought of this; still, she couldn’t stop to consider a woman who, if she had had the least sense, would have interfered in the whole affair long ago. “You are not angry,” Léon urged, “that I should have touched on your sufferings with the good Raoul?” Madame laughed softly and looked at Léon with provocative, caressing eyes. “You who know women--must know how safe you are from me,” she replied. “Do I look angry?” She did not look angry, but she looked provocative, and this was the first time that she had looked provocative.