chilly," and turned toward the
bed. Duroy followed her. They did not speak but continued their watch.
Toward midnight Georges fell asleep. At daybreak the nurse entered and
he started up. Both he and Mme. Forestier retired to their rooms to
obtain some rest. At eleven o'clock they rose and lunched together;
while through the open window was wafted the sweet, perfumed air of
spring. After lunch, Mme. Forestier proposed that they take a turn in
the garden; as they walked slowly along, she suddenly said, without
turning her head toward him, in a low, grave voice:

"Listen to me, my dear friend; I have already reflected upon what you
proposed to me, and I cannot allow you to depart without a word of
reply. I will, however, say neither yes nor no. We will wait, we will
see; we will become better acquainted. You must think it well over too.
Do not yield to an impulse. I mention this to you before even poor
Charles is buried, because it is necessary, after what you have said to
me, that you should know me as I am, in order not to cherish the hope
you expressed to me any longer, if you are not a man who can understand
and bear with me."

"Now listen carefully: Marriage, to me, is not a chain but an
association. I must be free, entirely unfettered, in all my actions--my
coming and my going; I can tolerate neither control, jealousy, nor
criticism as to my conduct. I pledge my word, however, never to
compromise the name of the man I marry, nor to render him ridiculous in
the eyes of the world. But that man must promise to look upon me as an
equal, an ally, and not as an inferior, or as an obedient, submissive
wife. My ideas, I know, are not like those of other people, but I shall
never change them. Do not answer me, it would be useless. We shall meet
again and talk it all over later. Now take a walk; I shall return to
him. Good-bye until to-night."

He kissed her hand and left her without having uttered a word. That
night they met at dinner; directly after the meal they sought their
rooms, worn out with fatigue.

Charles Forestier was buried the next day in the cemetery at Cannes
without any pomp, and Georges returned to Paris by the express which
left at one-thirty. Mme. Forestier accompanied him to the station. They
walked up and down the platform awaiting the hour of departure and
conversing on indifferent subjects.

The train arrived, the journalist took his seat; a porter cried:
"Marseilles, Lyons, Paris! All aboard!"