and ten minutes later came out on the verandah into the garden. Almost at the same time Mme. M. came out by another door, and immediately afterwards coming towards us appeared her self-satisfied husband, who was returning from the garden, after just escorting into it quite a crowd of ladies and there handing them over to a competent cavalieré servente. The meeting of the husband and wife was evidently unexpected. Mme. M., I don't know why, grew suddenly confused, and a faint trace of vexation was betrayed in her impatient movement. The husband, who had been carelessly whistling an air and with an air of profundity stroking his whiskers, now, on meeting his wife, frowned and scrutinized her, as I remember now, with a markedly inquisitorial stare.
"You are going into the garden?" he asked, noticing the parasol and book in her hand.
"No, into the copse," she said, with a slight flush.
"Alone?"
"With him," said Mme. M., pointing to me. "I always go for a walk alone in the morning," she added, speaking in an uncertain, hesitating voice, as people do when they tell their first lie.
"H'm . . . and I have just taken the whole party there. They have all met there together in the flower arbour to see N. off. He is going away, you know. . . . Something has gone wrong in Odessa. Your cousin" (he meant the fair beauty) "is laughing and crying at the same time; there is no making her out. She says, though, that you are angry with N. about something and so wouldn't go and see him off. Nonsense, of course?"
"She's laughing," said Mme. M., coming down the veranda steps.
"So this is your daily cavalieré servente," added M. M., with a wry smile, turning his lorgnette upon me.
"Page!" I cried, angered by the lorgnette and the jeer; and laughing straight in his face I jumped down the three steps of the verandah at one bound.
"A pleasant walk," muttered M. M., and went on his way.
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