After an hour of unprofitable solitude, feeling the need of a confidence which would lessen the tension of her thoughts, she sought Goursac, beginning timidly with the question:
"And the Citoyen Barabant, how is he?"
"Why, he is still alive, clamoring for you like a lost child for his mother."
"Goursac, my old friend," she said, taking his arm, "be serious and gentle for once. I am unhappy, and I want to talk with you."
"Ah, you love him," he said bitterly.
"Yes," she said slowly, as though the revelation had just come, "I love him."
"Then why do you avoid him?"
"I am afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of loving him too much."