In the fear of being surprised by his wife, he hesitated a few seconds.
And suddenly, like a thieving child, he took a pear from the tree, and
gave it to me,--oh! how piteously! His knees bent, his hand trembled.
"There, Célestine, hide that in your apron. You never have any in the
kitchen, do you?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Well, I will give you some occasionally, because ... because ... I
wish you to be happy."
The sincerity and ardor of his desire, his awkwardness, his clumsy
gestures, his bewildered words, and also his masculine power, all had
a softening effect upon me. I relaxed my face a little, veiled the
severity of my look with a sort of smile, and, half ironically, half
coaxingly, I said to him:
"Oh! Monsieur, if Madame were to see you?"
Again he became troubled, but, as we were separated from the house by
a thick curtain of chestnut trees, he quickly recovered himself, and,
growing more defiant as I became less severe, he exclaimed, with easy
gestures:
"Well, what? Madame? And what of her? I care nothing for Madame. I do
not intend that she shall annoy me. I have enough of her. I am over my
head in Madame."