And, during those last minutes, as though he were granting a crowning grace to his impossible longings and his forbidden dreams, he yielded to the delights of that love which had blossomed so mysteriously in the unknown regions of his soul.
"Good-bye," Suzanne now said. "Good-bye, Philippe."
"Are you going?"
"Yes, or else my father would come back with me; and I want nobody ... nobody...."
Jorancé and old Morestal had stopped near a bench, at a place where two paths met, the wider of which, the one on the left, climbed up towards the frontier. The spot was known as the Carrefour du Grand Chêne, or Great Oak Crossways.
Morestal kissed the girl again:
"Good-bye, for the present, Suzanne. And don't forget that I'm coming to your wedding."
He pressed the spring of his repeater:
"I say, Philippe, it's a quarter past ten.... True, there's no hurry.... Your mother and Marthe must be asleep by now. No matter, let's get on...."
"Look here, father, if you don't mind, I would rather take the direct road.... The path by the Butte-aux-Loups is longer; and I am feeling rather tired."