"Picture to yourself what our feelings would be on the day when you leave us, and when we let you go alone. For my part, I should never dare to look Périères in the face again, and I am equally certain that he would never be able to lift his eyes to mine. We should each go on his own way, with eyes downcast, crest fallen, and blushing for very shame. When we reached Paris we should be greeted with—'What! back again already? How about the grand tour? Had it become too risky? Then why did you start? Did you not know what you had to expect? Of course you have brought your companion back with you? No! Do you mean to say that she has gone on? The courage that fails you, she has; the strength that you lack, she possesses; she does not fear death, but you did not see it in the same light. Well, every one for himself in this world. But surely, she would not have started if you had not gone with her; she relied on your assistance and support, and suddenly, you deprive her of both—it's a queer business altogether!' That, believe me, is what would be said in our club, and throughout Paris, and that is just what we do not want to have said about us. "But hold our _amour-propre_ as cheap as you like, expose us to ridicule and contempt, if you will! Let us speak only of your opinion of us, the only opinion about which we, in reality, care one jot. We have talked of our devotion, our respect, our affection for you, and the day when you put these sentiments to real proof, you find nothing; all have vanished into thin air, respect, affection, devotion, all taken to flight! You cease to be a widow, and in twenty-four hours we cease to love you; the one woman in the world having disappeared for us, the friend disappears with her, and we have not an idea even of devoting ourselves to the friend. She held out to us the hope of a reward, the hope is taken away, everything is at an end, adieu! As she in whose service we were can no longer pay us, let her live as best she may, let her die when she will, it is no affair of ours!" "No, we have duties to fulfil towards ourselves, towards you, and, I do not hesitate to say it, towards a fellow countryman. There is no necessity for mentioning his name, nor for saying that he is your husband. In certain situations all feelings of rivalry, jealousy, or envy disappear. A European like ourselves, a Frenchman is, perhaps, suffering, dying in a country we have heard of, and can reach. The distance which separates him from us is diminished, we have achieved a third, possibly half the journey, and we must go on to the end. We agreed to accompany you on a pilgrimage to render homage to the dead; now we wish to, and we must, bring succour to the living. That is all I have to say to you in my own name and that of Périères. Pardon my prolixity; I cannot be silent about my feelings, a thousand thoughts course through my mind, and I cannot help putting them into words."