"Tell me," he said, "is anything the matter, are you unhappy?"
"Yes, my friend, you know very well that I am unhappy," replied the artist, dropping his spade and walking with his cousin under the trees. "How could it possibly be otherwise? You are well aware that I loved a certain woman, for my mother told you so. That woman has gone away. Don't tell me that she will return; I know perfectly well that she must return; but I know too that it is my duty never to seek her presence again, and to say to myself that she is dead to me."
"And—have you the courage to accept that conclusion?" said Marcel.
"Yes, if it is my duty! You understand, my friend, that a man must always accept his duty."
"Men submit to it with different degrees of courage: a man——"
"Yes, a man is a man. I am terribly unhappy, Marcel! I propose to endure it. I could endure it alone, you may be sure of that, but you can help me a little. Why do you refuse? What you have been doing the last two months is very cruel."
"How can I help you?" said Marcel, suspecting some stratagem devised by passion to discover Julie's retreat.
"Mon Dieu!" replied Julien, reading his friend's thoughts, "it's a very simple matter; you can tell me that she is happier than I am, that is all."
"How can I know?"
"You see her two or three times a week! Come, you have done your duty, my friend! You have endured my anxiety with wonderful courage. You have shown very great devotion to her and to me too, perhaps; but I have discovered several things; I know where she is: I learned yesterday from your son."