"He has just paid me a long visit," replied Pierre. He told Olivier the story of the two attempts which had been made upon the life of Andryana's husband.
"He would only have had what he deserves," said Olivier. "You know what my opinion is about him and his marriage. Was that all he had to tell you?"
There was a short silence. Then he added:—
"He did not speak to you of—you know whom?"
"Yes," replied Pierre.
"And it has pained you?" asked Olivier.
"Very much."
The two friends looked at each other. For the first time in six days they had made a definite allusion to the being constantly in their thoughts. Olivier hesitated, as if the words he was going to say were beyond his strength. Then he went on in a dull tone of voice:—
"Listen, Pierre," he began; "you are too miserable. This state of things cannot last. I am going away the day after to-morrow. Berthe is almost well again. The doctor authorizes her to return to Paris; he even advises it. Let things stay as they are for another forty-eight hours; then, when I am no longer here, return to her. I release you from your vow. I shall not see her, and I shall not know that you have seen her. Let what is past remain dead between us. You love her more than you love me. Let that love triumph."
"You are mistaken, Olivier," replied Pierre. "Of course it pains me; I do not deny it. But the suffering does not come from my resolution—that I have never regretted for a moment. No, the suffering is caused by the past. But it is past, and forever. It would be intolerable for us both were I to return to her under these conditions. No, I have given you my word and I repeat it. As to what you say, that I love her more than I love you, you have only to look at me."