She finally got Paul Jr. to bed by telling him that his father and Zola had decided to spend more time together, exploring old haunts. She knew this could not be true. Émile had made it quite clear that he had important affairs to see to. Besides, whether Paul or Émile were aware of it yet, it was obvious to her that something had changed between them. The extravagant gaiety of the night before—the praise for her dinner, the retelling of schoolboy jokes for Paul Jr.’s benefit, the toasts to old friends and teachers—seemed forced to her. She needed to know what they had really talked about and what Paul had thought of the visit. Had he finally come to terms with the fact that Émile had passed him and everything else in Aix by? Is that why he was wandering about, hiding from her? Had he betrayed them again by sleeping at the Jas? Or was he in jail? Hortense got up from the sofa to peer at the clock over the fireplace. Two o’clock. She sat down again and stared at the worn Persian rug that covered the floor of the salon.
