"You are making common cause with them; you were among those who made that little expedition to my house … Really, Laurent, that's the last straw! What a dirty deed!"
"This is not the time to recriminate and say unpleasant things to me!" said Paridael with an assurance that he had never before felt in talking to her. "Come with me!"
Frightened and overmastered by his air of resolution, she allowed herself to be led, and even took his arm. He lifted her into the first carriage that they met, cast the Dobouziez address to the cabby, and sat down opposite her before she had risked a remark.
"Excuse me," he said, "I shall not leave you until I know that you are in a safe place."
She did not answer. Neither of them opened their lips again.
Laurent's knees brushed those of the young woman; their feet met, and she withdrew hers with a terrified start, drawing back into a corner of the carriage, or pretending to look out of the window. Laurent held his breath in order the better to hear hers; he could have wished that the trip would last forever. Both were thinking of the last time they had met. She began to be afraid; he felt himself again becoming the lover of former days.
They passed drunken runners brandishing cudgels at the end of which were attached shreds of material torn from the furniture and hangings of the mansions that had been sacked. As they passed each street lamp Laurent caught a fleeting vision of the young woman. The alarm that he was causing his cousin sorely vexed him. Forever, then, he was to be an object of aversion
