"Perhaps everything is for the best," he thought, finding her as calm as when he had parted from her.
And yet he was terrified by her pallor.
"That is nothing," she said, tranquilly; "this cold tires me a good deal, but it is nothing more than a cold. It will have to run its course."
"Well, Thérèse," he said, "what is the present state of our relations? Have you reflected? It is for you to decide. Are we to part in anger, or remain on the footing of friendship as formerly?"
"I am not angry," she replied; "let us remain friends. Remain here, if you please. I propose to finish my work and return to France in about a fortnight."
"But should I not go and live in some other house for the next fortnight? aren't you afraid that people will talk?"
"Do whatever you think best. We have our own apartments here, entirely independent of each other; we use nothing but the salon in common; I have no use for it, and I give it up to you."
"No: on the other hand, I beg you to keep it. You will not hear me go out and come in; I will never put my foot inside it if you forbid me."
"I forbid you nothing," replied Thérèse, "unless it be to think for a single instant that your mistress can forgive you. As for your friend, she is superior to a certain order of disappointment. She hopes that she can still be useful to you, and you will always find her when you need any proof of friendship."
She offered him her hand, and went away to her work. Laurent did not understand her. Such perfect self-control was something which he could not comprehend, unfamiliar as he was with passive courage and silent resolution. He believed that she expected to resume her influence over him, and that she proposed to bring him back to love through friendship. He promised to yield to no attack of weakness, and, in order to be more certain of himself, he resolved to call some one to witness the fact of the rupture. He went to Palmer, confided to him the wretched story of his love, and added: