"And do you expect me to drag you away against your will? Is it not evident that you have consented reluctantly, and that you already begin to repent? Great God! What is it you are concealing from me? What is the use playing with words when your thoughts are as clear as that glass before which you stand? Would I not be the meanest of men to accept at your hands what is yielded with so much regret? And yet how can I refuse it? What can I do if you refuse to speak?"
"No, I do not oppose you, you are mistaken; I love you, Octave; cease tormenting me thus."
She threw so much tenderness into these words that I fell down on my knees before her. Who could resist her glance and her voice?
"My God!" I cried, "you love me, Brigitte? My dear mistress, you love me?"
"Yes, I love you; yes, I belong to you; do with me what you will. I will follow you, let us go away together; come, Octave, the carriage is waiting."
She pressed my hand in hers, and kissed my forehead.
"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."