lost; he could not work. Then? Well, then he would go to seek news of
her, for see her he must!

It was quite true; he felt a profound, tormenting, harassing necessity
for seeing her. What did it mean? Was it love? But he felt no mental
exaltation, no intoxication of the senses; it awakened no reverie of
the soul, when he realized that if she did not come that day he should
suffer keenly.

The door-bell rang on the stairway of the little hotel, and Olivier
Bertin suddenly found himself somewhat breathless, then so joyous that
he executed a pirouette and flung his cigarette high in the air.

She entered; she was alone! Immediately he was seized with a great
audacity.

"Do you know what I asked myself while waiting for you?"

"No, indeed, I do not."

"I asked myself whether I were not in love with you?"

"In love with me? You must be mad!"

But she smiled, and her smile said: That is very pretty; I am glad to
hear it! However, she said: "You are not serious, of course; why do you
make such a jest?"

"On the contrary, I am absolutely serious," he replied. "I do not
declare that I am in love with you; but I ask myself whether I am not