"You are mistaken," said Geneviève, "I should regret it very long, and forever."
"Geneviève! Geneviève!" cried Maurice, "have pity upon me."
Geneviève shuddered. It was the first time Maurice had uttered her name in these passionate accents.
"And now," continued Maurice, "since you have divined me, let me tell you all, Geneviève, for though you should kill me with a look, I have been silent too long; I will speak, Geneviève."
"Sir," said the young woman, "I have supplicated you in the name of our friendship to remain silent; I still pray you to do so, for my sake, if not for your own. Not another word; in the name of Heaven! not another word!"
"Friendship, friendship! if it be a friendship like this you profess for me, that you feel for Monsieur Morand, I wish for no more of your friendship,—I, Geneviève, require more than others."
"Enough," said Madame Dixmer, with the gesture of a queen,—"enough, Monsieur Lindey; here is our carriage, please to conduct me to my husband's house."
Maurice trembled with fever and emotion, when Geneviève, to rejoin the carriage, which indeed was only a few paces distant, placed her hand on his arm.
They both entered the carriage; Geneviève took the front seat, and Maurice the one opposite. They traversed Paris without either one or the other having uttered a word. Only, all the way, Geneviève had held her handkerchief before her eyes. When they entered the building, Dixmer was occupied in his counting-house, Morand had just returned from Rambouillet, and was changing his dress. Geneviève held out her hand to Maurice, as she entered her chamber.