“Yes, send her,” and Leon coughed.
“Mercy!” exclaimed Pepa anxiously, and turning up the collar of his coat. “You are catching cold! it is chilly—take care of yourself ... so—”
“Thank you, my darling; I am cold, I confess.”
“Well, then, we part now?”
“Yes,” said Roch, “now or never.”
The words: “then never!” were on Pepa’s lips, but she dared not utter them.
“And you will write to me very often, like a good boy?“
“Yes, every week.”
“Long, long letters?”
“As long and as full as the thoughts of a man that waits in hope.”