They went together, picking their way across muddy streets and
sidewalks encumbered with the cheap display of small tradesmen.
Part of the distance they rode in the car, and after disembarking,
passed the Pontellier mansion, which looked broken and half torn
asunder. Robert had never known the house, and looked at it with
interest.
"I never knew you in your home," he remarked.
"I am glad you did not."
"Why?" She did not answer. They went on around the corner,
and it seemed as if her dreams were coming true after all, when he
followed her into the little house.
"You must stay and dine with me, Robert. You see I am all
alone, and it is so long since I have seen you. There is so much
I want to ask you."
She took off her hat and gloves. He stood irresolute, making
some excuse about his mother who expected him; he even muttered
something about an engagement. She struck a match and lit the lamp
on the table; it was growing dusk. When he saw her face in the
lamp-light, looking pained, with all the soft lines gone out of it,
he threw his hat aside and seated himself.
"Oh! you know I want to stay if you will let me!" he
exclaimed. All the softness came back. She laughed, and went and
put her hand on his shoulder.
"This is the first moment you have seemed like the old Robert.
I'll go tell Celestine." She hurried away to tell Celestine to set
an extra place. She even sent her off in search of some added
delicacy which she had not thought of for herself. And she
recommended great care in dripping the coffee and having the omelet
done to a proper turn.
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