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She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. "Where are you going?" she asked. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. CHAPTER XXXI. It would give me great pleasure if you would dine with me somewhere first. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. ” “All right.
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