o say to me, when I
was a little girl. And he said it in such a happy tone! But, the next
day, I was his daughter no longer; and, struggle and fight as hard as I
might, I could not become so again.... Things prevented me; and I used
to cry because papa seemed to hate me.... And I wanted to be good....
And I still want to and I always do.... But there is nothing in the
world so hard ... because the other ... the other one does not want
to.... And besides ..."

"What?"

She waited a moment, as though hesitating, and continued:

"And, besides, what she wants, what the other Suzanne wants does not
appear to me so very unreasonable. It is an immense longing to love
somebody, but to love madly, boundlessly, to love too well.... Then it
seems to me that life has no other object ... and all the rest bores
me.... You know, Philippe, even when I was ever so small, that word love
used to upset me. And, later ... and now, at certain times, I feel my
brain going and all my soul seeking, waiting...."

She hid her face again, as though seized with a sudden feeling of
bashfulness, and Philippe saw, between her fingers, her crimson forehead
and cheeks.

His pity swelled within him. Through those desultory confidences, he saw
Suzanne as she was, ignorant, ill-informed about herself and about the
realities of life, troubled with desires which she took for unsatisfied
feelings, torn by the implacable duel between contrary instincts and
possessing nothing to counteract her woman's nature but a wayward and
melancholy virtue.

How good it would be to save her! He went up to her and, very gently,
said:

"You must get married, Suzanne."

She shook her head:

"There have been young men here who seemed to like me, but they always
went away after a few days. One would almost think that they were afraid
of me ... or that they had heard things ... against me.... Besides ... I
didn't care for them.... It was not they ... that I was waiting for....
It was somebody else.... And he did not come."

He understood the irreparable words which she was about to utter and he
ardently hoped that she would not utter them.

Suzanne guessed his wish and was silent. But the avowal was so clear,
even when unexpressed, that Philippe read all its passion in the long
silence that followed. And Suzanne experienced a great joy, as though
the indissoluble bond of words were linking them together. She added:

"It was a little your fault, Philippe, and you f