Smiling, Mme. Chambannes watched him depart. Then a sudden sulkiness brought down the corners of her lips. After all, there was nothing for her to laugh at. Everything was taking an ugly turn. The master had taken seriously her banal words of courtesy to him and the regrets which, in a moment of anger, she had formulated concerning Gerald. Old Raindal was going to "stick to" Les Frettes for another fortnight! Thereupon, George was coming back from Bosnia! The marquis and his son arriving at the same time--as agreed. She had no hope that Raldo would agree to hurry their arrival! Barely one evening to see each other again, find each other again! And this, besides, would have to be before old Raindal, who was already sulky and would keep his eye on them! What ill-luck, what complications and difficulties! During the three days that followed, Mme. Chambannes apologized for being in a sad mood. She did not feel very well and her nerves ached. M. Raindal affected to be sorry and full of goodwill. He, at most, risked a kiss or two, to keep himself in countenance. But he was not feeling very gay himself. Courteously, Uncle Panhias accused him of that fact. The master feigned surprise. No, really, he had no reason whatsoever for being sad; and to prove his care-free state, he chuckled, beating his chest: "Ha ha! I not gay! Ha ha! Why should I not feel gay? Ha!" Gerald's image passed, more clearly, before his mind; the master's little laugh stopped dead, as if broken in two by a sudden shock. CHAPTER XVII On Monday evening, after dinner, the company went to the drawing-room to take coffee. Zozé was christening a pale blue muslin dress, the low cut of which revealed her neck, encircled with a double row of pearls. The Marquis was in evening dress and white bow; Gerald, in a dinner-jacket, wore a tea rose in his button-hole. An air of festivity seemed to emanate from them both. The tall French windows of the room were opened; they led straight out onto the terrace that surrounded the house. Through the space between their two sides could be seen the lawn, the flower beds and the thick mass of the trees of the park. The day was, as it were, retiring with regret. Its lingering gray light seemed to dispute with the night, in the air, over the warm charm of the end of the evening. "A beautiful evening!" said M. de Meuze, who was smoking a cigar on the balcony.