It was Madame Castillon. She was rushing across from the opposite side without perceiving him.
A man who was walking along in front of her turned round. It was Gorju; and they met some six feet away from Pécuchet, the row of trees separating them from him.
"Is it true," said she, "you are going to fight?"
Pécuchet slipped behind the ditch to listen.
"Well, yes," replied Gorju; "I am going to fight. What has that to do with you?"
"He asks me such a question!" cried she, flinging her arms about him. "But, if you are killed, my love! Oh! remain!"
And her blue eyes appealed to him, still more than her words.
"Let me alone. I have to go."
There was an angry sneer on her face.
"The other has permitted it, eh?"