M.Moriaz had asked him to translate two pages of a German memoir which he had not been able to understand.

Camille was bringing the translation; perhaps that was the reason of his coming back to Cormeilles after two days; perhaps, too, it was only a pretext.
Mlle.

Moriaz could not help thinking that his visit was inopportune; that he had chose an unfortunate time for it.

"If the count finds him still here," thought she, "I am not afraid that he will make a scene, but all his pleasure will be spoiled." There was a tinge of coldness in her welcome to M.Langis, of which he was sensible.
"I am in the way," he said, making a movement to retire.
She kept him, and altered her tone: "You are never in the way, Camille.
Sit there." He seated himself, and talked of the races at Chantilly, that he had attended the day before.
She listened to him, bowed her head in sign of approval; but she heard his voice through a mist that veiled her senses.

She lifted her hand to brush away a wasp that annoyed her by its buzzing.