ing. She picked it up, then allowed it to drop to the floor.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Yes, that is all."

When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished
merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me to carry
my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door.

"It must be!" I said to myself. "It must be!" I repeated aloud.

"What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I
do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you love
me?"

She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief.

"Ah! Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love!"

"Yes, I think you are right, but, before God, I know how to suffer. You
must love me, must you not? Very well, then you must answer me. Were I to
lose you forever, were these walls to crumble over my head, I will not
leave this spot until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing
me for more than a month. Speak, or I will leave you. I may be a fool who
destroys his own happiness; I may be demanding something that is not for
me to possess; it may be that an explanation will separate us and raise
before me an insurmountable barrier, which will render our tour, on which
I have set my heart, impossible; whatever it may cost you and me, you
shall speak or I will renounce everything."

"No, I will not speak."

"You will speak! Do you fondly imagine I am the dupe of your lies? When I
see you change between morning and evening until you differ more from
your natural self than does night from day, do you think I am deceived?
When you give me as a cause some letters that are not worth the trouble
of reading, do you imagine that I am to be put off with the first pretext
that comes to hand because you do not choose to seek another? Is your
face made of plaster, that it is difficult to see what is passing in your
heart? What is your opinion of me? I do not deceive myself as much as you
suppose, and take care lest in default of words your silence discloses
what you so obstinately conceal."

"What do you imagine I am concealing?"

"What do I imagine? You ask me that! Is it to brave me you ask such a
question! Do you think to make me desperate and thus get rid of me? Yes,
I admit it, offended pride is capable of driving me to extremes. If I
should explain myself freely, you would have at your service all feminine
hypocrisy; you hope that I will accuse you, so that you can rep