But instead I turned my back on her and hastily disappeared down a side street.
After dinner I went home to my attic, glowing with the satisfaction of a duty done, but with a broken heart. Her eyes haunted me.
A short rest gave me back my determination. I rose and looked at the almanac which hung on the wall. It was the thirteenth of March. "Beware the Ides of March!" These famous words, which Shakespeare quotes in his Julius Cæsar, sounded in my ears as the servant entered, bringing me a note from the Baron.
In it he begged me to spend a lonely evening with him, saying that his wife was not well and that Matilda was going out.
I had not the nerve to refuse, and so I went.
The Baroness, more dead than alive, met me in the drawing-room, pressed my hand against her heart and thanked me warmly for having resolved not to rob her of a friend, a brother, for the sake of a mere nothing, a misunderstanding.
"I really think she's going out of her mind," laughed the Baron, releasing me from her hands.
"I am mad, I know, mad with joy that our friend has come back to us after he had decided to leave us for ever."
And she burst into tears.
"She's been suffering a great deal," explained her husband, disconcerted by this scene.