"He is right," Adhémar reflected, when he was alone again. "I am ugly, because she has made me unhappy. It's always the women who make us what we are!"
The next day, after long hesitation, Adhémar surrendered; he could not resist his ardent longing to see her whom he had tried in vain to forget.
"The idea," he thought, "of losing my temper, of quarrelling over a smell of tobacco smoke, which may have come from the neighbor's after all! Pshaw! there's no sense in that!"
He flew rather than ran to Madame Dermont's, and did not give the servant time to warn her mistress, but rushed into her room. Nathalie was alone, but her eyes were red and tears were still standing in them. Adhémar threw himself at her feet, seized her hands, and covered them with kisses.
"Forgive me! forgive me! I have made you unhappy. In pity's name, forgive me!"
"Three days without coming to see me! Ah! my friend, is this your love for me?"
"Why, yes, yes, I adore you, and that is why I am so jealous."
"I forbade you to be jealous, and you promised. Have you ceased to believe in my love?"
"I am a guilty wretch—I am, indeed—since I have made you shed tears."
"I thought it was all over, that you would never come again."