“Paule, I love you. Why do you not speak? Answer me, I beg you.”
Gently the girl released her hand.
“No, no, I cannot,” she said.
Sobs choked her voice, and she fled towards the house.
Then he felt the night fall even upon his heart. He hated the life he had once adored and envied Marcel dead on the African sands, Marcel wrapped in infinite peace.
CHAPTER VIII
MADAME GUIBERT
On the veranda Madame Guibert was waiting for the return of “her children.” Her arms were crossed on the iron balustrade; hidden in one of her hands she held a rosary, the beads of which she told while her lips murmured the Ave Maria. A peace as deep as that which had fallen over the land now reigned over her tear-stained face.
She saw Paule come back sobbing distractedly and tried in vain to stop her.
“Paule, what is the matter? Tell me,” she called. But the girl passed her without a word and fled to her room.
Madame Guibert turned to follow her. Then she changed her mind, threw a shawl round her shoulders, and descended the steps. With trembling feet, summoning all her strength, she went up the avenue and posted herself near the open gate which looked on to the road.