Julien nodded.
"It is the voice of the only person in the world," she continued, "whom
I absolutely hate."
"You know whose it is, then?"
"Of course!" she replied.
"So do I," he muttered. "I have never seen the man's face, but I know a little about him."
She shivered.
"Come," she said, "let us have our coffee later. We have finished dinner and the moon is coming up. If we walk to the bottom there, we shall see it from the bend of the river, and we shall escape from those men."
He rose hastily to his feet. She led the way down the path. Here and there they caught a glimpse of other tables as they passed—little parties of two or four, all very gay. Madame breathed more freely as they progressed. Presently they passed through an iron gate into a field, already half-mown. The perfume of the fresh-cut grass came to them with an almost overpowering sweetness. Her hand fell upon his arm.
"Forgive me," she begged, "I am not really a weak woman. I do not think that there is any other sound in life which I hate so much as the sound of that voice."
They walked in silence along the narrow path. Soon they reached the edge of the river. A few steps further on was a seat, of which they took possession. In the distance the gondola, on fire now with lamps, was playing a waltz. A bat flew for a moment about their heads. Somewhere in the woods a long way down the river a nightingale was singing.