"Burn it?" Lissac repeated.
He had left the window, returned to Marianne and smiling in his turn, he said:
"Why burn it?—Because it is tiresome or because it is dangerous?"
"Both!" she replied.
She paused for a moment before continuing, drew up over her arms the lace of her chemisette, then half bending her head, and looking at Guy like a creditor of love she said:
"You still have my letters, my dear?"
"Your letters?"
"Those of the old days?"
"That is so," he said. "The past."
He understood everything now.