“Poor Jean! Yes, it is terrible.”
“You know—yes. I shall do for you what he did for me.”
“What?”
“Was I dreaming or waking, her face haunted me. I lost strength. I could not eat or sleep, and for a year I suffered in silence. Sometimes in the winter, in spite of cold and snow, I would set out for Rouvray. I would watch her window, and when the light was extinguished I would walk back four miles, rewarded by having seen her shadow on the curtain. One night I met Fadard.”
“Jean, good Jean, I cannot go any farther. My feet are sinking from under me. Leave me.”
“What! Leave you here? Oh, no! Would you die in the snow?”
“It would not matter.”
“Don’t be foolish. I dreamed of dying once, too, but Jeanne saved me.”
Sidonie had stumbled upon a stick, and Jean now stooped down and lifted her upon his shoulder.
“What are you doing, Jean? You will be worn out and delayed if you carry me.”