"You must not think that, you must not."

"Jean, I believe that she loves you."

"And I believe it, too."

"You, too!"

"When I left her, three weeks ago, she was so agitated, so moved! She
saw me sad and unhappy, she would not let me go. It was at the door of
the castle. I was obliged to tear myself, yes, literally tear myself
away. I should have spoken, burst out, told her all. After I had gone a
few steps, I stopped and turned. She could no longer see me, I was lost
in the darkness; but I could see her. She stood there motionless, her
shoulders and arms bare, in the rain, her eyes fixed on the way by which
I had gone. Perhaps I am mad to think that. Perhaps it was only a
feeling of pity. But no, it was something more than pity, for do you
know what she did the next morning? She came at five o'clock, in the
most frightful weather, to see me pass with the regiment--and then--the
way she bade me adieu--oh, my friend, my dear old friend!"

"But then," said the poor Cure, completely bewildered, completely at a
loss, "but then, I do not understand you at all. If you love her, Jean,
and if she loves you?"

"But that is, above all, the reason why I must go. If it were only I,
if I were certain that she has not perceived my love, certain that she
has not been touched by it, I would stay, I would stay--for nothing but
for the sweet joy of seeing her, and I would love her from afar, without
any hope, for nothing but the happiness of loving her. But no, she has