"I have told monsieur the—the—truth," she stammered bravely with a fresh effort to strangle her sobs.
"You do not love Monsieur Tanrade, my child?"
"No, monsieur—I—I—was a little fool to have cried. It was stronger than I—the news. The marriage is so gay, monsieur—it is so easy for some."
"Ah—then you do love some one?"
"Oui, monsieur—" and her eyes looked up into mine.
"Who?"
"Gaston, monsieur—as always."
"Gaston, eh! the little soldier I lodged during the manœuvres—the little trombonist whom the general swore he would put in jail for missing his train. Sapristi! I had forgotten him—and you wish to marry him, Suzette?"
She nodded mutely in assent, then with a hopeless little sigh she added: "Hélas—it is not easy—when one has nothing one must work hard and wait—Ah, mon Dieu!"