Virginie Poucette saw, and she understood what was passing in his mind.
Yet she did not see and understand all by any means; and it is hard to
tell what further show of fire there might have been, but that the Clerk
of the Court was there, saying harshly under his breath, "The huzzy! The
crafty huzzy!"
The Clerk of the Court was wrong. Virginie was merely sentimental, not
intriguing or deceitful; for Jean Jacques was not a widower--and she was
an honest woman and genuinely tender-hearted.
"I'm coming to the Manor Cartier to-morrow," Virginie continued. "I have
a rug of yours. By mistake it was left at my house by M'sieu' Dolores."
"You needn't do that. I will call at your place tomorrow for it," replied
Jean Jacques almost eagerly. "I told M'sieu' Dolores to-day never to
enter my house again. I didn't know it was your rug. It was giving away
your property, not his own," she hurriedly explained, and her face
flushed.
"That is the Spanish of it," said Jean Jacques bitterly. His eyes were
being opened in many directions to-day.
M. Fille was in distress. Jean Jacques had had a warning about Sebastian
Dolores, but here was another pit into which he might fall, the pit
digged by a widow, who, no doubt, would not hesitate to marry a divorced
Catholic philosopher, if he could get a divorce by hook or by crook. Jean
Jacques had said that he was going to Virginie Poucette's place the next
day.
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