Léon was waiting for a cue from Madame, and Madame was too stunned to give him any cue. She was like a little helpless leaf that has brought on its own storm, but Rose waited for nothing. She looked first at Monsieur Gérard. She compelled that enraged artist to meet her steady, disapproving eyes; then she held out her hand to Madame Gérard and with a gracious diffidence that was the perfection of dignity, she said in her stumbling French, “I hope very much, Madame, that if your husband is to leave you for a few days, you will give us as much of your company as possible.” Madame excused herself. She murmured under her breath that Rose was too kind. Once more her eyes flickered from her husband to Léon. “It is a great happiness to me to second my wife’s invitation,” said Léon gravely. He murmured something more as he bowed over her hand and kissed it. Rose had already turned and without even glancing in the direction of Monsieur Gérard she went out into the gay little garden. Capri saw them return to the Hotel Paradiso. Léon was remorsefully attentive to his wife; he treated her as if she were something very valuable that might break. Perhaps in some subconscious way he knew that he was going to break her, but he was very much impressed by her behavior. She was, he thought to himself, the soul of generosity, and when we are sure that we have the soul of generosity to deal with we sometimes find it difficult not to take advantage of it. CHAPTER XI The next day Monsieur Gérard carried out his intention of going to Naples. Madame Gérard remained invisible. She accepted the flowers Léon called upon her to present, but she sent down a message that she was indisposed and could see nobody. She was indisposed until five o’clock the following day. By this time she had made up her mind. It was not an easy task. She said to herself again and again that she would have accepted heartbreak--but she could not accept outrage. Her husband had not only cruelly wronged her--he had done so publicly before the eyes of a man who loved her--and before his wife. Her marriage was a false step--it had been her first adventure--but in her imagination she had only counted upon adventures as successes--now she was face to face with an adventure which had proved a failure. She could not go back--she could only go on--and yet she hesitated, for after marriage, adventures that go on are no longer innocent. Her husband had left her with a weapon lying within her reach--from the first it had occurred to her that she could strike back with Léon, but with this idea had come another one, that in striking back she must cruelly wound an innocent and happy woman. In all the horrible scene which had taken place the day before there had only been one moment less intolerable than the others, and Rose had given her that moment. She had distinctly stood by her with an offer of friendship.