I smiled and continued to hold out my hand.
“Let me have the note, monsieur,” I repeated.
He hesitated a moment, still looking at me, then went to the other room and brought the note back with him and placed it in my hands.
My fingers were trembling so I could scarcely break the seal; a mad hope possessed me that she had absolved me from my vow, that she summoned me to her. As I opened the paper a little heap of withered rose leaves fell upon my breast.
“Ah, you see!” cried Marigny. “I was right, then!”
I could not answer, but I held out the note for him to read. It contained but one word: “Courage!”
“Well,” he said, “that is good advice. That is precisely what you need in this affair, M. de Tavernay.”
“Yes,” I agreed bitterly; “courage to give her up—courage never again to see her. You see she has gone!”
“She could not very well remain,” he said dryly, “after listening to you three days in your delirium!”
“My delirium?”