"'You are weeping, Madame?'
"It was a young barrister who was traveling with his mother, and whom we had often met. His eyes had frequently followed me.
"I was so much confused that I did not know what answer to give or what to think of the situation. I told him I felt ill.
"He walked on by my side in a natural and respectable fashion, and began talking to me about what we had seen during our trip. All that I had felt he translated into words; everything that made me thrill he understood perfectly, better than I did myself. And all of a sudden he recited some verses of Alfred de Musset. I felt myself choking, seized with indescribable emotion. It seemed to me that the mountains themselves, the lake, the moonlight, were singing to me about things ineffably sweet.
"And it happened, I don't know how, I don't know why, in a sort of hallucination.
"As for him I did not see him again till the morning of his departure.
"He gave me his card!"
And, sinking into her sister's arms, Madame Letore, broke into groans—almost into shrieks.
Then, Madame Roubere, with a self-contained and serious air, said very gently: