She rose to her feet. She was like a little Sarah Bernhardt, all passion, tragic intensity.
“Then go! shameful man. Go to the woman you love. I never want to see you again. But know that you have broken my heart! Know that however happy you may be there is never more happiness for me!”
With these words ringing in my ears I closed the door behind me. Poor little girl! Well, it was tough on her, but she must really learn to curb that emotional temperament. And after all, it was only for a few hours more. I would show her how foolish she had been, and she would forever after be cured of jealousy. With this thought I hurried off to my examination.
I found the Inspector to be a most genial individual who desired nothing more than that I should pass; so, profiting by my mishap of the day previous, I acquitted myself to admiration. Elated with success, I was returning merrily home when suddenly I remembered the domestic cloud of the morning. My conscience pricked me. Perhaps after all I had been a little harsh. Perhaps in the heat of the moment I had said things I did not mean. Well, she had never resented anything of the kind before. By the time I reached home she would have forgotten all about it. I would hear her hurried run to the door to greet me. “Hello! Little Thing,” I would say. And then she would kiss me, just as lovingly as ever. Oh, I was so confident of her desperate affection!
But, as I reached the door, there was an ominous stillness within.
“She is trying to frighten me,” I thought; yet my hand trembled as I put the key in the lock.
“Hello, Little Thing!”
No reply. A silence that somehow sickened me; then a sudden fear. Perhaps I would find her dead, killed by her own hand in a moment of despair. But, as I hurriedly hunted the rooms, the sickening feeling vanished, for nowhere could I find any trace of her. The breakfast things were on the table just as I had left them. Everything was the same ... yet stay! there was a note addressed to me.
Again that deadly sickness. I could scarce tear open the envelope. There was a long letter written in French in an unsteady hand, and blurred with many tears. Here is what I read:
“I am leaving your house, where I am only in the way. Now you may bring your Mignonne or any one else you wish. I would not stand for a moment between you and your happiness.