“Ask them to wait a few minutes. Mr. Roquevillard will be back soon.”
The delay was becoming disquieting, however, to Margaret. Raymond Bercy was conscious of the fact that the girl’s thoughts were far from him.
“Already!” he thought.
Just now, at least, when she had gently put away his love, he had had a place in her thoughts and heart. Even the sorrow that she caused him brought him nearer to her, was dear because it came from her. He looked at her a last time, with despairing eyes, as if to measure the whole extent of his loss, and leave its impress on his memory. And realising that this was the end, he murmured:
“Good-bye, Margaret.”
She held out her hand to him.
“Good-bye, dear friend. Go in peace. In my prayers each day I’ll join your name with my family’s. Do you want me to?”
“I am grateful, Margaret. I had conceived a great hope, and I have shattered it myself.”
“God willed it, and not you. May God guard you,” she answered gravely.
He bent his head and went out. When she found herself alone she leaned her forehead on her hands a moment, then straightened up again. Then she went to her father’s office, and begged Mr. Hamel and Mr. Battard to be patient a few minutes longer. Finally, as anxiety swayed her more and more, and she was even getting ready to go out and search, she heard the key grating in the outer lock. She hurried toward the door.