With a glance of scorn and a shrug of the shoulders, he replied:
“Have done with this. I was wrong to confide my hopes to you. Do not make me regret that I came here.”
Then the sister tried another plan. She rose, forced her lips to smile, and as if nothing unpleasant had passed between them, she begged Jean to remain with her that evening, at least, and share her frugal supper.
“Remain,” she entreated; “that is not much to do—and it will make me so happy. And since it will be the last time we shall see each other for years, grant me a few hours. It is so long since we have met. I have suffered so much. I have so many things to tell you! Jean, my dear brother, can it be that you love me no longer?”
One must have been bronze to remain insensible to such prayers. Jean Lacheneur’s heart swelled almost to bursting; his stern features relaxed, and a tear trembled in his eye.
Marie-Anne saw that tear. She thought she had conquered, and clapping her hands in delight, she exclaimed:
“Ah! you will remain! you will remain!”
No. Jean had already mastered his momentary weakness, though not without a terrible effort; and in a harsh voice:
“Impossible! impossible!” he repeated.
Then, as his sister clung to him imploringly, he took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart.