"If I still loved her, why should I conceal it from you? You know, we are to tell each other everything now."
"True; for we are friends now. We won't lose our tempers with each other any more, will we?"
"I wasn't the one who lost my temper."
"You will come to see me, I hope?"
"You will allow me to?"
"Of course, as the past is only a dream. And I will come to your rooms—as a friend. I am a man, you know. I don't see why I should not come to see you—unless, of course, it would displease you?"
"Never!"
"In any event, when you have company, or when you expect some fair one, you can tell me so, and I will leave you at liberty. It's agreed, isn't it? I shall not come to see you on any other condition."
"It's agreed."
I took Frédérique's hand again and pressed it warmly, nor did she think of withdrawing it. At that moment, we passed a riding party. The young dandies of whom it was composed glanced into our carriage as they passed. Frédérique suddenly turned pale. I looked up, and recognized one of the cavaliers as Monsieur Saint-Bergame. At the same moment I heard his voice, and distinguished this sentence, the last words coming very indistinctly as he receded: