"That is mere talk," said Monsieur Antoine. "Happiness is being one's own master, and I don't need anybody to be mine. I don't like brats and mawkish sentiment; I wasn't made to be the father of a family, but I could have governed a country very well, if I had been born a king. It has always been my whim to command, and I reign over whatever is within my reach much better than many monarchs who don't know what they are doing!"
Despite the anxiety which Julien's absence caused her, and her longing to send Marcel after him, Madame Thierry felt called upon to invite Monsieur Antoine to supper.
"Oh!" said he, "I sup on a hard crust of bread and a glass of cheap wine. That is my habit: I have never cared much about eating."
She gave him what he asked for, and Marcel hastened their departure.
"I am sure that Julien is at my house waiting for me," he said to his aunt. "He must be impatient because I do not return; but my wife is there, and she will keep him quiet; Juliot will chatter to him, and if he should be sicker, you may be sure that he is well taken care of."
Julien was frantically impatient in very truth, despite the attentions which Madame Marcel lavished upon him. He had felt exceedingly weak when he arrived. He had tried to eat a little and to divert his thoughts with his godson's pretty prattle; but, as Marcel did not appear, when he heard the clock strike eleven, he could stand it no longer. He declared that his mother would be anxious if he had not returned at midnight; he promised to take a cab to return to Sèvres, and started for Rue de Babylone on foot, with many detours and precautions, to avoid being watched and followed, as formerly, by some agent of Monsieur Antoine. He arrived unmolested. His actions were no longer watched. Monsieur Antoine had been spying upon Julie too long not to be sure that she no longer had any relations with Julien.
At midnight, Julien, who had been at the door fifteen minutes, entered and found Julie, who also had been waiting fifteen minutes in the pavilion. At the same moment Marcel, Monsieur Antoine, and Madame Thierry entered Paris by the Barrière de Sèvres. Monsieur Antoine's frugal supper and slow conversation had lasted a little too long to suit the widow. Being anxious about her son, she had asked for a seat in the chaise, that she might join Julien at Marcel's.
As the moment for his meeting with Julie drew near, Julien had summoned all his courage. He anticipated a painful explanation, he had taken an inward oath that he would be neither angry nor reproachful nor weak, and yet, when he opened the door, his hand trembled, a giddiness born of frenzy and despair made him hesitate and recoil; but, the instant that she saw him, Julie uttered a joyful cry, threw her arms about his neck, and strained him passionately to her heart. They were in the dark, they could not see how changed they both were. They felt that their kisses were burning, and it did not occur to either of them that it might be with fever. At that moment the only fever was that fever of love which gives life. They had forgotten that which causes death.
But that moment of intoxication did not long endure in Julien's case. More alarmed than exhilarated by Julie's caresses, he hastily pushed her away.
"Why do you still love me," he said, "if you still intend to leave me?"