elt it, in a way, at
dinner. Yes, a little your fault.... In Paris, I lived a dangerous life
beside you.... Just think, we were always together, always by ourselves,
we two; and, for days at a time, I had the right to think that there was
no one in the world but you and I. It was for me that you talked, it was
to make me worthy of yourself that you explained things to me which I
did not know, that you took me to see the beautiful sights in the
churches, in the old towns.... And I, I was amazed. At what I was
learning? Oh, no, Philippe, but at the new world that suddenly opened up
to me. I did not listen to your words, but I listened to the sound of
your voice. My eyes saw only your eyes. It was your admiration that I
admired; your love for the beautiful was what I loved. All that you
taught me to know ... and to love, Philippe, was ... yourself."

Notwithstanding his inward rebellion, the words entered into Philippe's
being like a caress; and he too almost forgot himself in the pleasure of
listening to the sound of a soft voice and looking into eyes that are
dear to one.

He said, simply:

"And Marthe?"

She did not answer; and he felt that, like many women, she was
indifferent to considerations of that sort. To them, love is a reason
that excuses everything.

Then, seeking to create a diversion, he repeated:

"You must get married, Suzanne, you must. That is where your safety
lies."

"Oh, I know!" she said, wringing her hands in despair. "I know ... only
..."

"Only what?"

"I haven't the strength to."

"You must find the strength."

"I can't.... I ought to have it given me. I ought to have ... oh,
nothing very much, perhaps ... a little gladness ... a glad memory ...
the thought that my life will not have been entirely wasted.... The
thought that I too shall have had my spell of love.... But that short
spell I ask for ... I beg for it, I pray for it."

He blurted out:

"You will find it in marriage, Suzanne."

"No, no," she said, more bitterly, "only the man I love can give it to
me.... I want, once at least, to feel a pair of arms around me, nothing
but that, I assure you ... to lay my head on your shoulder and to remain
like that, for an instant."

She was so near to Philippe that the muslin of her bodice touched his
clothes and he breathed the scent of her hair. He felt a mad temptation
to take her in his arms. And it would have been a very small thing, as
she had said: one of those moments of