“Oh, brother, don’t go to the Chartreuse!” cried Amélie, eluding the question.
“Mother told you to say this to me, didn’t she?”
“Oh, no, brother! Mother said nothing to me. It is I who guessed that you intended to go.”
“Well, if I want to go,” replied Roland firmly, “you ought to know, Amélie, that I shall go.”
“Even if I beseech you on my knees, brother?” cried Amélie in a tone of anguish, slipping down to her brother’s feet; “even if I beseech you on my knees?”
“Oh! women! women!” murmured Roland, “inexplicable creatures, whose words are all mystery, whose lips never tell the real secrets of their hearts, who weep, and pray, and tremble—why? God knows, but man, never! I shall go, Amélie, because I have resolved to go; and when once I have taken a resolution no power on earth can make me change it. Now kiss me and don’t be frightened, and I will tell you a secret.”
Amélie raised her head, and gazed questioningly, despairingly, at Roland.
“I have known for more than a year,” replied the young man, “that I have the misfortune not to be able to die. So reassure yourself, and don’t be afraid.”
Roland uttered these words so dolefully that Amélie, who had, until then, kept her emotion under control, left the room sobbing.
The young officer, after assuring himself that her door was closed, shut his, murmuring: “We’ll see who will weary first, Fate or I.”