"It is nice--when one has nothing better to do."
George's thoughts were still hard at it, stripping life of its poesy in
a kind of spiteful anger. "I should be very foolish to trouble myself,
to deprive myself of anything whatever, to worry as I have done for some
time past." Forestier's image crossed his mind without causing any
irritation. It seemed to him that they had just been reconciled, that
they had become friends again. He wanted to cry out: "Good evening, old
fellow."
Madeleine, to whom this silence was irksome, said: "Suppose we have an
ice at Tortoni's before we go in."
He glanced at her sideways. Her fine profile was lit up by the bright
light from the row of gas jets of a cafe. He thought, "She is pretty.
Well, so much the better. Jack is as good as his master, my dear. But if
ever they catch me worrying again about you, it will be hot at the North
Pole." Then he replied aloud: "Certainly, my dear," and in order that
she should not guess anything, he kissed her.
It seemed to the young wife that her husband's lips were frozen. He
smiled, however, with his wonted smile, as he gave her his hand to
alight in front of the cafe.