"No, no, monsieur, let us run, let us run," cried the young woman.
So both ran towards the square at the top of their speed, but when they reached it they did not see a living soul in either of the four or five narrow streets that diverged from it. Realising how utterly useless it would be to extend their search further, the two stood for a moment in silence, resting after their run, and again thinking, perhaps, of the singular rapprochement between their destinies.
"Really, madame, it makes me wonder whether I am awake or dreaming," exclaimed the man in the cloak at last.
"What you say is perfectly true, monsieur. I really cannot believe what I see with my own eyes," replied the lady.
"I feel, madame, that what has happened to us to-day is so inexplicable that our mutual reserve should be maintained no longer."
"I agree with you, perfectly, monsieur. Will you give me your arm? I am nearly frozen, and what with the surprise and excitement, I am feeling far from well, but my indisposition will pass off if I walk a little way, I think."
"Which way shall we go, madame?"
"It doesn't matter in the least,—towards the Pont Neuf, perhaps."
As they walked slowly on, the following conversation took place:
"I feel it obligatory upon me to first tell you my name, monsieur," remarked the lady. "It is not a matter of much consequence, perhaps, but you ought to know who I am. I am a widow, and my name is Valentine d'Infreville."