"Has he two names then?"
"I don't know ... I don't know anything about it," she said, with some embarrassment, "and that is why, by Hortense's advice, I came to ask for your help."
This conversation was taking place in Rénine's flat on the Boulevard Haussmann, to which Hortense had brought her friend Geneviève Aymard, a slender, pretty little creature with a face over-shadowed by an expression of the greatest melancholy.
"Rénine will be successful, take my word for it, Geneviève. You will, Rénine, won't you?"
"Please tell me the rest of the story, mademoiselle," he said.
Geneviève continued:
"I was already engaged at the time to a man whom I loathe and detest. My father was trying to force me to marry him and is still trying to do so. Jean Louis and I felt the keenest sympathy for each other, a sympathy that soon developed into a profound and passionate affection which, I can assure you, was equally sincere on both sides. On my return to Paris, Jean Louis, who lives in the country with his mother and his aunt, took rooms in our part of the town; and, as I am allowed to go out by myself, we used to see each other daily. I need not tell you that we were engaged to be married. I told my father so. And this is what he said: 'I don't particularly like the fellow. But, whether it's he or another, what I want is that you should get married. So let him come and ask for your hand. If not, you must do as I say.' In the middle of June, Jean Louis went home to arrange matters with his mother and aunt. I received some passionate letters; and then just these few words:
'There are too many obstacles in the way of our happiness. I give up.
I am mad with despair. I love you more than ever. Good-bye and forgive
me.'
"Since then, I have received nothing: no reply to my letters and telegrams."
"Perhaps he has fallen in love with somebody else?" asked Rénine. "Or there may be some old connection which he is unable to shake off."