e former evening, her full mellow
light upon the white walls of the villas and the broad glittering
expanse of the sea. Duroy, drawing in the air to the full depth of his
lungs, felt himself suddenly seized with hope, and, as it were buoyed up
by the approach of happiness. He turned round, saying: "Come and get a
little fresh air. It is delightful."

She came quietly, and leant on the window-sill beside him. Then he
murmured in a low tone: "Listen to me, and try to understand what I want
to tell you. Above all, do not be indignant at my speaking to you of
such a matter at such a moment, for I shall leave you the day after
to-morrow, and when you return to Paris it may be too late. I am only a
poor devil without fortune, and with a position yet to make, as you
know. But I have a firm will, some brains I believe, and I am well on
the right track. With a man who has made his position, one knows what
one gets; with one who is starting, one never knows where he may finish.
So much the worse, or so much the better. In short, I told you one day
at your house that my brightest dream would have been to have married a
woman like you. I repeat this wish to you now. Do not answer, let me
continue. It is not a proposal I am making to you. The time and place
would render that odious. I wish only not to leave you ignorant that you
can make me happy with a word; that you can make me either a friend and
brother, or a husband, at your will; that my heart and myself are yours.
I do not want you to answer me now. I do not want us to speak any more
about the matter here. When we meet again in Paris you will let me know
what you have resolved upon. Until then, not a word. Is it not so?" He
had uttered all this without looking at her, as though scattering his
words abroad in the night before him. She seemed not to have heard them,
so motionless had she remained, looking also straight before her with a
fixed and vague stare at the vast landscape lit up by the moon. They
remained for some time side by side, elbow touching elbow, silent and
reflecting. Then she murmured: "It is rather cold," and turning round,
returned towards the bed.

He followed her. When he drew near he recognized that Forestier's body
was really beginning to smell, and drew his chair to a distance, for he
could not have stood this odor of putrefaction long. He said: "He must
be put in a coffin the first thing in the morning."

"Yes, yes, it is arranged," she replied. "The