It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife.
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