happiness which one plucks like a
flower and remembers.

She looked at him, not sadly now, nor resigned, but smiling, archly,
with all the ingenious charm of the woman who is trying to conquer.

He turned pale and murmured:

"Suzanne, I am your friend. Be my friend, simply, and let your
imagination ..."

"You're afraid," she said.

He tried to jest:

"Afraid! Goodness gracious me, of what?"

"Afraid of the one little affectionate action which I ask of you, the
action of a brother kissing his sister. That's what you shrink from,
Philippe."

"I shrink from it because it is wrong and wicked," he declared, firmly.
"That is the only reason."

"No, Philippe, there is another reason."

"Which is that?"

"You love me."

"I! I love you?... I!"

"Yes, you, Philippe, you love me. And I defy you to look me in the face,
to look me straight in the eyes and deny it."

And, without giving him time to recover, she continued, bending over him
eagerly:

"You were in love with me, before I fell in love with you. It was your
love that created mine. Don't protest, you have no right to do so now,
for you know.... And I, I knew it from the first day. Oh, believe me, a
woman is never mistaken.... Your eyes, when they looked at me, had a new
look in them ... there, the look of just now. You have never looked like
that at any woman, Philippe; not even at Marthe, ... no ... not even at
her.... You never loved her, her nor the others. I was the first. Love
was a thing unknown to you and you do not understand it yet ... and you
sit there in front of me, nonplussed and dumbfoundered, because the
truth appears to you and because you love me, Philippe, because you love
me, my dear Philippe...."

She clung to him, in an upheaval of hope and certainty, and he seemed
not to resist.

"You were afraid, Philippe. That is why you made up your mind not to see
me again.... That is why you spoke so harshly to me just now.... You
were afraid, because you love me.... Do you understand now?... Oh,
Philippe, I should not have acted with you as I have done, if you did
not love me.... I should never have had the presumption!... But I
knew.... I knew ... and you don't deny it, do you?... Oh, how I
suffered! My jealousy of Marthe!... To-day again, when she kissed
you.... And the thought of going away without as much as saying good-bye
to you!... And the thought of that marriage!... What a torture!... But
it's over now, is it not? I shall suffer