You are modest," she said smiling, "and you credit me with singular
consideration."

"Do you think so? Well, since you take it in this way, we will go in; I
demand it."

A stupid proposition, when made by two people who are forcing themselves
to say something utterly different from what they think.

Then she compelled me to take the path that led back to the chateau. I
do not know, at least I did not then know, whether this course was one
which she forced upon herself, whether it was the result of a vigorous
resolution, or whether she shared my disappointment in seeing an
incident which had begun so well thus suddenly brought to a close but
by a mutual instinct our steps slackened and we pursued our way gloomily
dissatisfied the one with the other and with ourselves. We knew not the
why and the wherefore of what we were doing. Neither of us had the right
to demand or even to ask anything. We had neither of us any ground for
uttering a reproach. O that we had got up a quarrel! But how could I
pick one with her? Meanwhile we drew nearer and nearer, thinking how we
might evade the duty which we had so awkwardly imposed upon ourselves.
We reached the door, when Madame de T-----said to me:

"I am angry with you! After the confidences I have given you, not to
give me a single one! You have not said a word about the countess.
And yet it is so delightful to speak of the one we love! I should have
listened with such interest! It was the very best I could do after I had
taken you away from her!"

"Cannot I reproach you with the same thing?" I said, interrupting her,
"and if instead of making me a witness to this singular reconciliation
in which I play so odd a part, you had spoken to me of the marquis--"

"Stop," she said, "little as you know of women, you are aware that their
confidences must be waited for, not asked. But to return to yourself.
Are you very happy with my friend? Ah! I fear the contrary--"

"Why, madame, should everything that the public amuses itself by saying
claim our belief?"

"You need not dissemble. The countess makes less a mystery of things
than you do. Women of her stamp do not keep the secrets of their loves
and of their lovers, especially when you are prompted by discretion to
conceal her triumph. I am far from accusing her of coquetry; but a prude
has as much vanity as a coquette.--Come, tell me frankly, have you not
cause of complaint against her?"

"But, madame, the air is really too icy f