Suddenly, between two jolts, Zozé asked in a tone of stupefaction.
“Oh! Raldo.... How could you?... How?... How?...”
How could he! Poor little one, what exquisite things she said! He repressed a smile, then, softened at once by the candor of her query, he replied:
“l tell you later ... some day, when I am absolutely sure that it can no longer hurt you....”
“Some day?... What day?” Zozé exclaimed haughtily.... “Do you suppose that I shall ever see you again?... Do you feel that it is all over?”
He drew her close to him.
“So, then, do you love me any more?”
Zozé panted, unable to answer. Tears ran down her cheeks which were contracted by a spasm of pain.
“Of course you love me, since you cry!” Gerald said, caressing her. And he went on, with more assurance. “Listen, my little Zozé.... Of course, to meet you again now, at once, to-morrow or the next day, that could only bring about more scenes, sadness ... painful interviews.... You need rest and reflection.... You must have time ... to forgive me.... Oh! I am not a brute, be sure that I guess what you are feeling.... Here is what I suggest.... I was to leave next week for Poitou, to visit my aunt at Cambres.... Well, I am going to advance my departure.... I shall leave this very night.... l stay at Cambres until the end of the month and write to you as often as you like.... And when I come back, everything will be forgotten, I give you my word on it.... Tell me, does this suit you?”
With each jolt Mme. Chambannes let her head dreamily bump upon Geral shoulder. The young man repeated: