"How exasperating!" sighed Marguerite. "They are going to find us out!"
A girl looked at her so searchingly that she thought she recognized in
her an employee of a celebrated modiste. Besides, some of her personal
friends who had met her in the crowded shops but an hour ago might be
returning home by way of the garden.
"Let us go," she said rising hurriedly. "If they should spy us here
together, just think what they might say! . . . and just when they are
becoming a little forgetful!"
Desnoyers protested crossly. Go away? . . . Paris had become a shrunken
place for them nowadays because Marguerite refused to go to a single
place where there was a possibility of their being surprised. In another
square, in a restaurant, wherever they might go--they would run the same
risk of being recognized. She would only consider meetings in public
places, and yet at the same time, dreaded the curiosity of the people.
If Marguerite would like to go to his studio of such sweet
memories! . . .
"To your home? No! no indeed!" she replied emphatically "I cannot forget
the last time I was there."
But Julio insisted, foreseeing a break in that firm negative. Where
could they be more comfortable? Besides, weren't they going to marry as
soon as possible? . . .
"I tell you no," she repeated. "Who knows but my husband may be watching
me! What a complication for my divorce if he should surprise us in your
house!"
Now it was he who eulogized the husband, insisting that such
watchfulness was incompatible with his character.
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