Then he bowed again ceremoniously, ushered out his wife, who had
remained silent, and went out himself with so stiff an air that the
notary no longer smiled.
As soon as they got home, Du Roy abruptly closed the door, and throwing
his hat onto the bed, said: "You were Vaudrec's mistress."
Madeleine, who was taking off her veil, turned round with a start,
exclaiming: "I? Oh!"
"Yes, you. A man does not leave the whole of his fortune to a woman,
unless--"
She was trembling, and was unable to remove the pins fastening the
transparent tissue. After a moment's reflection she stammered, in an
agitated tone: "Come, come--you are mad--you are--you are. Did not you,
yourself, just now have hopes that he would leave us something?"
George remained standing beside her, following all her emotions like a
magistrate seeking to note the least faltering on the part of an
accused. He said, laying stress on every word: "Yes, he might have left
something to me, your husband--to me, his friend--you understand, but
not to you--my wife. The distinction is capital, essential from the
point of propriety and of public opinion."
Madeleine in turn looked at him fixedly in the eyes, in profound and
singular fashion, as though seeking to read something there, as though
trying to discover that unknown part of a human being which we never
fathom, and of which we can scarcely even catch rapid glimpses in those
moments of carelessness or inattention, which are like doors left open,
giving onto the mysterious depths of the mind. She said slowly: "It
seems to me, however, that a legacy of this importance would have been
looked on as at least equally strange left to you."