Perhaps she noticed the scowl on
Julio's face.
She was, however, so wrought up by the memory of that farewell that,
after a long pause, she was unable to resist the temptation of again
putting her thought into words.
At the station entrance, while she was kissing her brother for the last
time, she had an encounter, a great surprise. "He" had approached, also
clad as an artillery officer, but alone, having to entrust his valise to
a good-natured man from the crowd.
Julio shot her a questioning look. Who was "he"? He suspected, but
feigned ignorance, as though fearing to learn the truth.
"Laurier," she replied laconically, "my former husband."
The lover displayed a cruel irony. It was a cowardly thing to ridicule
this man who had responded to the call of duty. He recognized his
vileness, but a malign and irresistible instinct made him keep on with
his sneers in order to discredit the man before Marguerite. Laurier a
soldier!--He must cut a pretty figure dressed in uniform!
"Laurier, the warrior!" he continued in a voice so sarcastic and strange
that it seemed to be coming from somebody else. . . . "Poor creature!"
She hesitated in her response, not wishing to exasperate Desnoyers any
further. But the truth was uppermost in her mind, and she said simply:
"No . . . no, he didn't look so bad. Quite the contrary.
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