The dear girl had understood but one thing, and that was that Frédéric did not want her to love another; and that was enough to make her understand that he loved her. For a long time, she had hoped that she had inspired the sweetest of sentiments in Frédéric's heart; but he had never said a word to her on the subject, nothing that signified: "I love you;" and even when everything tends to that conclusion, a woman longs none the less to hear the words.
Again Frédéric was silent; he sighed long and loud, but said nothing.
"Will you speak, monsieur? what has happened to disturb you so to-day?—what have I done to deserve your reproaches? Explain yourself clearly; I insist upon it—do you hear, monsieur? I insist upon it."
The expression of her voice was so tender that Frédéric could not resist the temptation to look at her again, and doubtless her eyes were in accord with her voice, for he gazed at them several minutes in a sort of ecstasy; but suddenly he cried again:
"What an unhappy wretch I am!"
"You unhappy, Frédéric? Why so?"
"You are going to be married."
"Married! This is the first I've heard of it."
"Oh! it's useless for you to try to conceal it from me; I know all, mademoiselle: I know that your future husband will be here in a few days, that he's a colonel, and that you love him."
"What do you say? a colonel? and I love him? Upon my word, this is rather strong! What is the name of this colonel I am going to marry, if you please?"