little sympathy for me. Who knows? The future is always unknown. It is
very gray and obscure before me. Let me say to myself that I have been
kind, simple, frank with you, and that you have not forgotten it. In
time you will understand, you will forgive; to-day have a little pity."

He was not listening to her words. He was appeased simply by the caress
of her voice, of which the tone was limpid and clear. He exclaimed:

"You do not love him. I am the one whom you love. Then--"

She hesitated:

"Ah, to say whom one loves or loves not is not an easy thing for a woman,
or at least for me. I do not know how other women do. But life is not
good to me. I am tossed to and fro by force of circumstances."

He looked at her calmly. An idea came to him. He had taken a
resolution; he forgave, he forgot, provided she returned to him at once.

"Therese, you do not love him. It was an error, a moment of
forgetfulness, a horrible and stupid thing that you did through weakness,
through surprise, perhaps in spite. Swear to me that you never will see
him again."

He took her arm:

"Swear to me!"

She said not a word, her teeth were set, her face was sombre. He
wrenched her wrist. She exclaimed: