"Oh, that is too much!" cried Gilbert, laughing loudly.

"And why so, my little friend?"

"Because--because--" stammered Stephane; and then suddenly stopped.

An expression of bitter sadness passed over his face; his brows
contracted and his eyes became fixed. It was thus that terrible
paroxysm had commenced which so alarmed Gilbert at their first
meeting. This time, fortunately, the attack was less violent. The
good Gilbert passed quickly from anger to pity; "there is a secret
wound in that heart," thought he, and he was still more convinced
of it when, after a long pause Stephane, recovering the use of his
speech, said to him in a broken voice: "I was ill the other day, I
often am. People should have some consideration for invalids."

Gilbert made no answer; he feared by a hard word to exasperate his
soul so passionate, and so little master of itself; but he thought
that when Stephane felt ill, he had better stay in his room.

They walked on some moments in silence until, recovering from his
dejection, Stephane said ironically: "You made a mistake in leaving
the fete so soon. If you had stayed until the end, you would have
heard Christ and his mother sing; you lost a charming duet."

"Let us drop that subject," interrupted Gilbert; "we could not
understand each other. Yours is a kind of pleasantry for which I
have but little taste."