“You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. To-morrow I am going to Paris. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. Michelle looked like she was about to throw up herself. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table.
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