THE SEPARATION.
Laurent, as he cast his eyes for the last time upon that dismal cliff, saw, on the platform of the old ruined fort, a figure whose head and waving hair were still tinged with gold by the sun's declining rays; it was Thérèse's.
But, ten minutes later, as the Ferruccio, after steaming out to sea with some effort, turned to round the promontory, Laurent, as he cast his eyes for the last time upon that dismal cliff, saw, on the platform of the old ruined fort, a figure whose head and waving hair were still tinged with gold by the sun's declining rays; it was Thérèse's fair hair and her adored form. She was alone. Laurent held out his arms with intense emotion; then he clasped his hands in token of repentance, and his lips murmured two words which the breeze bore away:
"Forgive! forgive!"
Monsieur de Vérac gazed at him in speechless amazement; and Laurent, the most sensitive man on earth in the matter of ridicule, did not heed the glance of his former companion in debauchery. Indeed, he took a sort of pride in braving it at that moment.
When the shore had disappeared in the evening haze, Laurent found himself seated on a bench by Vérac's side.
"Come," said the latter, "tell me about this extraordinary experience! You have said too much to leave me in ignorance of the rest; all your friends in Paris—I might say all Paris, since you are a famous man—will ask me concerning the progress of your liaison with Mademoiselle Jacques, who is also too much in the public eye not to arouse curiosity. What shall I reply?"
"That you found me very downcast and shamefaced. That what I told you can be summed up in three words. Must I say them again?"
"Then you really abandoned her first? I like that better for your sake!"