“Suppose I were to beg you not to go,” resumed Mlle. Gilberte. “Suppose I beseeched you, Marius!”
“I should remain then,” he answered in a troubled voice; “but I would be betraying my duty, and failing to my honor; and remorse would weigh upon our whole life. Command now, and I will obey.”
They had stopped; and no one seeing them standing there side by side affectionate and familiar could have believed that they were speaking to each other for the first time. They themselves did not notice it, so much had they come, with the help of all-powerful imagination, and in spite of separation, to the understanding of intimacy. After a moment of painful reflection,
“I do not ask you any longer to stay,” uttered the young girl. He took her hand, and raised it to his lips.
“I expected no less of your courage,” he said, his voice vibrating with love. But he controlled himself, and, in a more quiet tone,
“Thanks to the indiscretion of Pulei,” he added, “I was in hopes of seeing you, but not to have the happiness of speaking to you. I had written—”
He drew from his pocket a large envelope, and, handing it to Mlle. Gilberte,
“Here is the letter,” he continued, “which I intended for you. It contains another, which I beg you to preserve carefully, and not to open unless I do not return. I leave you in Paris a devoted friend, the Count de Villegre. Whatever may happen to you, apply to him with all confidence, as you would to myself.”
Mlle. Gilberte, staggering, leaned against the wall.
“When do you expect to leave?” she inquired.