Laurent was hungry, and asked Thérèse to give him some dinner.
"What about the coach?" she said. "It is almost time for it to start."
"But you are not going?"
"I shall go if you stay."
"Very well; then I will go, Thérèse. Adieu!"
He left the house abruptly, and returned an hour later.
"I missed the mail," he said; "I will go to-morrow. Haven't you dined yet?"
In her preoccupation Thérèse had forgotten her dinner, which was on the table.
"My dear Thérèse," he said, "grant me one last favor; come to dine somewhere with me, and let us go to some play this evening. I want to be your friend once more, just your friend. That will cure me and be the salvation of both of us. Try me. I will not be jealous, nor exacting, nor even amorous any more. Let me tell you—I have another mistress, a pretty little woman in society, as slender as a linnet, and as white and dainty as a sprig of lily of the valley. She is a married woman. I am a friend of her lover, whom I am playing false. I have two rivals, two deadly perils to defy every time that I obtain a tête-à-tête. That is very exciting, and therein lies the whole secret of my love. Thus my passions and my imagination are satisfied there; my heart alone and a free exchange of ideas are what I offer you."
"I refuse them," said Thérèse.