“Do you want mine?”
“No, thanks. Though yours are good, I am about resolved never to use them again.” Then, with a smile whose bitterness it would be impossible to describe, he added: “They brought me ill-luck. Good-night! Sir John. I must sleep soundly to-night, so as not to want to sleep to-morrow night.”
Then, shaking the Englishman’s hand vigorously a second time, he left the room and returned to his own. There he was greatly surprised to find the door, which he was sure he had left closed, open. But as soon as he entered, the sight of his sister explained the matter to him.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, partly astonished, partly uneasy; “is that you, Amélie?”
“Yes, it is I,” she said. Then, going close to her brother, and letting him kiss her forehead, she added in a supplicating voice: “You won’t go, will you, dear Roland?”
“Go where?” asked Roland.
“To the Chartreuse.”
“Good! Who told you that?”
“Oh! for one who knows, how difficult it is to guess!”
“And why don’t you want me to go to the Chartreuse?”