"Juliot doesn't know what he is saying; Juliot doesn't know her!"
"Juliot saw her one day at the play; he hasn't forgotten her. He doesn't know her name, so he calls her the country client. He has often spoken to me about her: her sweetness and fascination impressed him."
"Well, what then?"
"What then? Why, last Sunday the child went to the festival at Nanterre with a comrade of his own age, to whose parents you had entrusted him for that purpose."
"True!"
"The two boys eluded the watchfulness of the parents for a few moments, and ran about the village. A tree heavily laden with fruit, hanging over a low wall, tempted their mischievous instincts. Juliot climbed on his comrade's shoulders and attacked the tree; and while he was filling his pockets, he saw a woman whom he recognized pass at his feet. I know the street, I made him describe the woman. I have been to Nanterre and made inquiries in the neighborhood: I have learned that a Madame d'Erlange—that is Julie under an assumed name—lived there with her maid, that she never went out, that no one was watching her, and that she lived alone from inclination; that she was not supposed to be ill, although your son thought she had changed. In a word, I know that she is a prisoner on parole, or that she is afraid of my importunities. Tell me the real reason, Marcel. If it is the latter, tell her to come back, to return to her house; tell her to have no fear; tell her that I swear by all that I hold most sacred that she shall never see me again. Do you understand, Marcel? Answer me and relieve me of the torture of uncertainty."
"Well, it is all true," said Marcel after a moment's hesitation. "Madame d'Estrelle is a prisoner on parole; but it is a parole which she herself gave, and which no one compels her to observe. She is at liberty to return; but she cannot see you any more."
"She cannot, or she does not wish to?"
"She neither can nor wishes to."
"Very good, Marcel, that is enough. Carry her my oath of submission and bring her back to her own house. She is in dismal quarters now, and that solitude must be ghastly. Let her come back to her friends, her comforts, her liberty. Go instantly, go, I say! I don't wish her to suffer another moment for me."