traversed the square; her steps followed the happy impatience of her
desire. She had visions of Jacques waiting for her at the foot of the
stairway, among the marble figures; taking her in his arms and carrying
her, trembling from kisses, to that room full of shadows and of delights,
where the sweetness of life made her forget life.

But in the solitude of the Avenue MacMahon, the shadow which she had seen
at the corner of the Rue Galilee came near her with a directness that was
unmistakable.

She recognized Robert Le Menil, who, having followed her from the quay,
was stopping her at the most quiet and secure place.

His air, his attitude, expressed the simplicity of motive which had
formerly pleased Therese. His face, naturally harsh, darkened by
sunburn, somewhat hollowed, but calm, expressed profound suffering.

"I must speak to you."

She slackened her pace. He walked by her side.

"I have tried to forget you. After what had happened it was natural, was
it not? I have done all I could. It was better to forget you, surely;
but I could not. So I bought a boat, and I have been travelling for six
months. You know, perhaps?"

She made a sign that she knew.

He continued: