Edouard did not reply, but took his pistols, put on his cloak, and went downstairs. The two young men bade the concierge open the gate for them, and Alfred put a gold piece in his hand, to bribe him to sit up for their return, which could hardly take place until late at night. They left the château, and by the pale light of the moon, which showed itself at intervals from behind the clouds, they took the road leading into the mountains.
Edouard walked in silence, and at a rapid pace. Alfred dared not interrupt his reflections, but contented himself with glancing from time to time at the cliffs and mountains which surrounded them. That night excursion reminded him of their journey to La Roche-Noire; he thought of their hilarity at that time, and sighed as he reflected how soon the happiness which the future promised had disappeared.
After walking more than a league and a half without stopping, and when they were only a short distance from the little valley, Alfred said to his friend:
"Let us rest a moment and take breath; perhaps the man whom you seek will not be at the White House so early."
"Very well," said Edouard, "let us rest here."
And he sat down beside Alfred on a boulder. As he continued to sit in silence, Alfred took his hand, and said to him:
"My dear Edouard, you must admit that we are great fools, to take so much trouble for a girl,—a very pretty girl, I admit; but there are so many others whom we do not even know!"
"Alfred, it is possible that this is folly, rank madness; I realize fully that I should do better to forget Isaure, to despise her; but, my dear friend, every day we persevere in things, although we know that we are doing wrong. As I have told you, you do not feel love as I do, and it is very lucky for you! You loved Isaure passionately; but as soon as you made up your mind to sacrifice that love to me, you were able to put her adored image from your thoughts, and you will agree that in a few days it presented itself much less often. I loved Isaure without manifesting it so plainly; but it is a sentiment which will end only with my life. May I not have long to suffer thus!—Come, the time is passing, and I am in haste to arrive."
Edouard rose, they walked on, and in ten minutes went down into the valley. There Edouard was obliged to stop; he was trembling from head to foot, he could hardly breathe, and he was almost forced to lean upon Alfred’s arm to keep himself from falling.
"Wait, wait," he said; "the sight of this place makes me ill. Forgive me, dear Alfred, for all the trouble that I am giving you."