Calyste returned to his own house about two in the morning. After
waiting for him till half-past twelve, Sabine had gone to bed
overwhelmed with fatigue. She slept, although she was keenly distressed
by the laconic wording of her husband’s note. Still, she explained it.
The true love of a woman invariably begins by explaining all things
to the advantage of the man beloved. Calyste was pressed for time, she
said.
The next morning the child was better; the mother’s uneasiness subsided,
and Sabine came with a smiling face, and little Calyste on her arm, to
present him to his father before breakfast with the pretty fooleries and
senseless words which gay young mothers do and say. This little scene
gave Calyste the chance to maintain a countenance. He was charming to
his wife, thinking in his heart that he was a monster, and he played
like a child with Monsieur le chevalier; in fact he played too well,--he
overdid the part; but Sabine had not reached the stage at which a woman
recognizes so delicate a distinction.