Thus there had been the thing which the Clerk of the Court saw from Mont Violet behind the Manor; and so it was that as Jean Jacques helped Carmen down from the red wagon on their return from Vilray, she gave him a smile which was meant to deceive; for though given to him it was really given to another man in her mind's eye.

At sunset she gave it again to George Masson on the river-bank, only warmer and brighter still, with eyes that were burning, with hands that trembled, and with an agitated bosom more delicately ample than it was on the day the Antoine was wrecked.
Neither of these two adventurers into a wild world of feeling noticed that a man was sitting on a little knoll under a tree, not far away from their meeting-place, busy with pencil and paper.
It was Jean Jacques, who had also come to the river-bank to work out a business problem which must be settled on the morrow.

He had stolen out immediately after supper from neighbours who wished to see him, and had come here by a roundabout way, because he wished to be alone.
George Masson and Carmen were together for a few moments only, but Jean Jacques heard his wife say, "Yes, to-morrow--for sure," and then he saw her kiss the master-carpenter--kiss him twice, thrice.

After which they vanished, she in one direction, and the invader and marauder in another.
If either of these two had seen the face of the man with a pencil and paper under the spreading beechtree, they would not have been so impatient for tomorrow, and Carmen would not have said "for sure." Jean Jacques was awake at last, man as well as philosopher..