“Yes, it must be,” she murmured, “it must be.”
“It must be,” I repeated to myself. I arose.
On the table there remained only one piece of paper that Brigitte was examining. She picked it up, then allowed it to drop to the floor.
“Is that all?” I asked.
“Yes, that is all.”
When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me to carry my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door.
“It must be!” I said to myself. “It must be!” I repeated aloud.
“What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you love me?”
She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief.
“Ah! Unhappy man!” she cried, “you will never know how to love!”