"Yes. But for pity's sake, control yourself. . . . He intrusted
me with secrets that concern you, and you may be sure that never
messenger could be more discreet nor more devoted than I."

"What is the matter with him?"

"How if he loved you no longer?"

"Oh! that is impossible!" she cried, and a faint smile, nothing
less than frank, broke over her face. Then all at once a kind of
shudder ran through her, and she reddened, and she gave me a
wild, swift glance as she asked:

"Is he alive?"

Great God! What a terrible phrase! I was too young to bear that
tone in her voice; I made no reply, only looked at the unhappy
woman in helpless bewilderment.

"Monsieur, monsieur, give me an answer!" she cried.

"Yes, madame."

"Is it true? Oh! tell me the truth; I can hear the truth. Tell me
the truth! Any pain would be less keen than this suspense."

I answered by two tears wrung from me by that strange tone of
hers. She leaned against a tree with a faint, sharp cry.

"Madame, here comes your husband!"