“Who? Tell me who it is!” he repeated to himself. This was really too much of an imposture, altogether too impudent! He pushed back his armchair. His jaws were parted, ready to bite, ready to let out the whole burden of questions, outrages, reproach. But, in a supreme effort, he mastered himself. He paced up and down before Zozé, in a short space of ten feet, and said in a voice broken by his fury:
“Do not ask me anything, dear madame! Nothing ... it would be useless!... I must go and I am going.... I can say no more to you.... I do not know if you understand me, and I wish that you would not.... Yes, I wish that with all my soul!... Alas, on the contrary, I am very much afraid that you have understood....”
“But, dear master!” Zozé protested.
“All right, dear madame!... You do not understand me?... All the better.... You will later, when you think it over.... The only thing I ask you is that you should avoid any struggle for me.... Lend yourself to my little stratagem: you know, the letter received ... the letter which I did not receive.... Because my resolution is irrevocable.... I shall leave this afternoon.... To remain here one single day would be humiliating to me.... I cannot!... I cannot!”
He was choking. Zozé rose to her feet and caught his hand, which he made no attempt to withdraw.
“I do not understand you, dear master.... You are free.... I have no right to detain you.... But I beg your pardon if I have offended you!” she said with emotion, not more than half of which was feigned.
M. Raindal turned his head away. He did not wish her to see his eyes, which were full of tears. He released his own hand from hers and pretended to be examining the lawn, the park, the clouds.
“I thank you, dear madame.... I have nothing to forgive you!” he said, coughing as if he wished to force back a new rush of tears which made his voice hoarse. “I shall leave this afternoon by the five lock train.... Do not bother about me.... Please only let me have Firmin.... He will help me pack my things.... Hm! Hm! Hm!”
He kept on coughing and then became melancholy.
“Hm! Hm!... When I am gone, when I am no longer here, I hope that you will think sometimes of your dear....” He corrected himself,—“of your old master who, on his part, even from afar, will not forget you....”