As Olivier spoke Pierre's attitude began to change. His sobs stopped and in his eyes, still wet with tears, a strange gleam appeared. His friend's voice betrayed such poignant emotion, the vision evoked by his brotherly love recalled such ideal thoughts to the unhappy man--visions of heroic deeds and courageous efforts--that, after the first shock of horrible pain, all his manly energy was called to life by the appeal of his old brother in arms. He rose, hesitated a second, and then seized Olivier in his arms. And they embraced with one of those noble sentiments that dry the tears in our eyes, that strengthen the wavering will and renew the strength of generosity in our hearts. Then briefly and simply Pierre replied:-- "I beg your pardon, Olivier; you are better than I am. But the blow was such a terrible one, and came so suddenly!--I had such entire, complete confidence in that woman. And I learned all in five minutes, and in that way!--I knew nothing, suspected nothing.--Then came the two lines in your handwriting after what your wife had told me, and on the top of your confidences!--It was like a ship upon the ocean at midnight cut in two by another vessel, and plunging beneath the waves forever.--A man could go mad in such a moment.--But let us say nothing more about that. You are right. We must save our friendship from this shipwreck." He put his hand before his eyes as though to shut out another vision that was paining him. "Listen, Olivier," he said, "you may think me very weak, but you must tell me the truth.--Have you ever seen Madame de Carlsberg since you parted in Rome?" "Never!" replied Olivier. "You wrote a letter to her this morning. Not the one of which I read the beginning, but another. What did you write about?" "To ask for an interview, nothing more." "And she? Did she reply?" "Not personally. She sent word that she was at home." "Why did you ask for this meeting? What did you say to her?" "I said what I then thought was the truth. I was overwhelmed by the idea that she was trying to revenge herself upon me through you, and I felt I must arouse a sense of shame in her. She replied to my reproaches and proved to me that she loved you." And he added:-- "Do not ask me anything more." Pierre looked at him. The fever of such an interrogation began to scorch him again. A question was burning his lips. He longed to ask, "Did you speak of your past? Did you speak of your love?"