im. And so he could not
withstand the temptation to come back and put his ear against the door.
He heard very ill, for the thick portieres deadened every sound, but
he managed to catch certain words spoken by Philippe, stern phrases in
which such terms as "mere child," "family," "honor," were distinctly
audible. He was so anxious about his darling's possible answers that his
heart beat violently and filled his head with a confused, buzzing noise.
She was sure to give vent to a "Dirty blackguard!" or to a "Leave me
bloody well alone! I'm in my own house!" But nothing happened--not a
breath came from her direction. Nana seemed dead in there! Soon even his
brother's voice grew gentler, and he could not make it out at all, when
a strange murmuring sound finally stupefied him. Nana was sobbing! For
a moment or two he was the prey of contending feelings and knew not
whether to run away or to fall upon Philippe. But just then Zoe came
into the room, and he withdrew from the door, ashamed at being thus
surprised.

She began quietly to put some linen away in a cupboard while he stood
mute and motionless, pressing his forehead against a windowpane. He was
tortured by uncertainty. After a short silence the woman asked:

"It's your brother that's with Madame?"

"Yes," replied the lad in a choking voice.

There was a fresh silence.

"And it makes you anxious, doesn't it, Monsieur Georges?"

"Yes," he rejoined in the same painful, suffering tone.

Zoe was in no hurry. She folded up some lace and said slowly:

"You're wrong; Madame will manage it all."

And then the conversation ended; they said not another word. Still she
did not leave the room. A long quarter of an hour passed, and she
turned round again without seeming to notice the look of exasperation
overspreading the lad's face, which was already white with the effects
of uncertainty and constraint. He was casting sidelong glances in the
direction of the drawing room.

Maybe Nana was still crying. The other must have grown savage and have
dealt her blows. Thus when Zoe finally took her departure he ran to the
door and once more pressed his ear against it. He was thunderstruck; his
head swam, for he heard a brisk outburst of gaiety, tender, whispering
voices and the smothered giggles of a woman who is being tickled.
Besides, almost directly afterward, Nana conducted Philippe to the
head of the stairs, and there was an exchange of cordial and familiar
phrases.

When