"Cruel," he said, not daring to speak aloud, "stop one moment, only one word—"
"Honor and silence," said the Negro firmly.
"Yes," Léon replied sadly. "I am bound to honor, I promised, I submit. I can only hope that others will be as faithful to their word as I am to mine."
The bandage was replaced, and Léon followed his guide out to the carriage. Soon he was at home again, where, alone with his memories, alternately delicious and sad, happy and anxious, he, now madly in love, wondered if indeed the whole thing were not a dream, and fell asleep in the hope of prolonging it.
[IV]
But who shall describe his anxiety and distress as the days went by, then a week, a second and a third, with still no news from the stranger? Still she took no trouble to soothe his impatience.
His mind dwelt painfully on the incident.
"What!" he said, "is it possible that my loyalty and honor were invoked merely to satisfy the passing caprice of an unprincipled and immoral woman? No, no I am unjust to her and ungrateful too. I could feel her heart beating with fear. O my beloved lady why hide from my love? Why lift me to a pinnacle of bliss only to dash me to earth again directly after? The memory of the moments we spent together entirely absorbs me; is it possible they have no power over you?"
In this apostrophe to his mysterious belle Léon was interrupted by the arrival of a letter which seemed nicely timed to reply to it. He recognized at once the handwriting of the conditions, and opened the envelope with a hand that shook with pleasure. This is what he read: