irony which hurt
his brother's feelings.

Pyramids of fruit stood on the table and monuments of cakes. No one was
hungry; they picked at the fruit and nibbled at the cakes rather than
ate them. Then, at the end of about an hour, Mme. Rosemilly begged to
take leave. It was decided that old Roland should accompany her home and
set out with her forthwith; while Mme. Roland, in the maid's absence,
should cast a maternal eye over the house and see that her son had all
he needed.

"Shall I come back for you?" asked Roland.

She hesitated a moment and then said: "No, dear old man; go to bed.
Pierre will see me home."

As soon as they were gone she blew out the candles, locked up the cakes,
the sugar, and liqueurs in a cupboard of which she gave the key to Jean;
then she went into the bed-room, turned down the bed, saw that there
was fresh water in the water-bottle, and that the window was properly
closed.

Pierre and Jean had remained in the little outer drawing-room; the
younger still sore under the criticism passed on his taste, and the
elder chafing more and more at seeing his brother in this abode. They
both sat smoking without a word. Pierre suddenly started to his feet.

"Cristi!" he exclaimed. "The widow looked very jaded this evening. Long
excursions do not improve her."

Jean felt his spirit rising with one of those sudden and furious rages
which boil up in easy-going natures when they are wounded to the quick.
He could hardly find breath to speak, so fierce was his excitement, and
he stammered out:

"I forbid you ever again to say 'the widow' when you speak of Mme.
Rosemilly."

Pierre turned on him haughtily:

"You are giving me an order, I believe. Are you gone mad by any chance?"

Jean had pulled himself up.

"I am not gone mad, but I have had enough of your manners to me."

Pierre sneered: "To you? And are you any part of Mme. Rosemilly?"

"You are to know that Mme. Rosemilly is about to become my wife."

Pierre laughed the louder.

"Ah! ha! very good. I understand now why I should no longer speak of
her as 'the widow.' But you have taken a strange way of announcing your
engagement."

"I forbid any jesting about it. Do you hear? I forbid it."

Jean had come close up to him, pale, and his voice quivering with
exasperation at this irony levelled at the woman he loved and had
chosen.

But on a sudden Pierre turned equally furious. All the accumulation of
impotent rage, of suppressed maligni