"You are right; and I am indeed too exacting," replied Maurice, giving way to his impetuosity. "Let us return to meet Monsieur Morand."
Geneviève felt her displeasure pass from her mind to her heart.
"Yes," said she; "let us return to Monsieur Morand. He at least is a friend who never causes me the slightest pain."
"They are, indeed, valuable friends," said Maurice, choking with jealousy, "and I, for my part, should like a few such."
They were now upon the high-road; the horizon crimsoned as the departing rays of the setting sun glistened upon the gilt moldings of the dome of the Hôtel des Invalides. A star which on a previous evening had attracted the attention of Geneviève, sparkled in the azure of heaven. Geneviève released Maurice's arm with melancholy resignation.
"Why have you made me suffer?" said she.
"Ah!" said Maurice, "I am not so clever as some people, and do not know how to make myself loved."
"Maurice!" said Geneviève.
"Oh, Madame, if he is always good, always composed, it is because he does not suffer."
Geneviève again placed her white hand on the powerful arm of Maurice.