disgusted.

Cayrol anxiously watched the increasing anguish depicted on his wife's
face. He had a presentiment that she was hiding something from him, and
the thought nearly choked him. And, with this suspicion, his ingenuity
came to his aid. He approached Jeanne, and said, affectionately:

"Come, dear child, we are misleading one another; I in speaking too
harshly, you in refusing to understand me. Forget that I am your
husband; see in me only a friend and open your heart; your resistance
hides a mystery. You have had some grief or have been deceived."

Jeanne, softened, said, in a low tone:

"Don't speak to me like that; leave me."

"No," resumed Cayrol, quietly, "we are beginning life; there must be no
misunderstanding. Be frank, and you will find me indulgent. Come, young
girls are often romantic. They picture an ideal; they fall in love with
some one who does not return their love, which is sometimes even unknown
to him who is their hero. Then, suddenly, they have to return to a
reality. They find themselves face to face with a husband who is not
the expected Romeo, but who is a good man, devoted, loving, and ready to
heal the wounds he has not made. They are afraid of this husband; they
mistrust him, and will not follow him. It is wrong, because it is
near him, in honorable and right existence, that they find peace and
forgetfulness."

Cayrol's heart was torn by anxiety, and with trembling voice he tried to
read the effect of his words on Jeanne's features. She had turned away.
Cayrol bent toward her and said:

"You don't answer me."

And as she still remained silent, he took her hand and forced her to
look at him. He saw that her face was covered with tears. He shuddered,
and then flew into a terrible passion.

"You are crying! It is true then? You have loved?"

Jeanne rose with a bound; she saw her imprudence. She understood the
trap he had laid; her cheeks burned. Drying her tears, she turned toward
Cayrol, and cried:

"Who has said so?"

"You cannot deceive me," replied the banker, violently. "I saw it in
your looks. Now, I want to know the man's name!"

Jeanne looked him straight in the face.

"Never!" she said.

"Ah, that is an avowal!" exclaimed Cayrol.

"You have deceived me unworthily by your pretended kindness,"
interrupted Jeanne, proudly, "I will not say anything more."

Cayrol flew at her--the churl reappeared. He muttered a fearful oath,
and seizing her by the arm, shouted: