the little Claire, have caused Joseph to reflect
further, and brought about a rupture between us?
But I feel from the tremor of my heart that my
resolution, deferred out of coquetry, out of a disposition to tease, was well taken. To be free, to
be enthroned behind a bar, to command others,
to know that one is looked at, desired, adored by
so many men! And that is not to be? And this
dream is to escape me, as all the others have? I
do not wish to seem to be throwing myself at
Joseph’s head, but I wish to know what he has in
his mind. I put on a sad face, and I sigh:
"When you have gone, Joseph, the house will no longer be endurable to me. I have become so accustomed to you now, to our Conversations."
"Oh! indeed!"
"I too shall go away."
Joseph says nothing.
He walks up and down the harness-room, with anxious brow and preoccupied mind, his hands nervously twirling a pair of garden-shears in the pocket of his blue apron. The expression of his face is unpleasant. I repeat, as I watch him go back and forth:
"Yes, I shall go away; I shall return to Paris."
He utters not a word of protest, not a cry; not even an imploring glance does he turn upon me. He puts a stick of wood in the stove, as the fire is low, and then begins again his silent promenade up and down the room. Why is he like this?
