“Jacques and I.”
He said no more, but lay watching her. Presently he exclaimed: “How you have suffered!”
She shuddered. She knew that the hours had written on her face with lines which, come what would, would never be erased. She took his hand in both hers. “Léon, I want you to promise me something.”
“That I won’t do it again? Well, I promise. I did not think any one could care so much. It seemed the best way for myself; but when I was in the water—” He stopped, and went on in a minute: “It struck me as rather a sneaky way of getting out of it.”
She sank down by his side, and buried her face in her arms. “It was cruel, cruel to those who love you!”
He put out his hand and touched her gently.
“You really love me so much! Still!”
“Still? Oh, Léon, more than ever!”
She heard him murmuring to himself as if wondering. “More than ever! Well,” he went on, raising himself on his elbow, “I owe you something for sticking to me. You shall have your way.”
With a sudden cry of tenderness and pity, Nathalie flung her arms round him and sobbed. At that moment what a way it seemed! Was she right? Could she give him up? She was speechless, thankful, miserable, all at once, and, seeing it, he tried to jest a little.