In order to keep his word scrupulously, he ought not to have permitted his wily friend to go any further. On the contrary, he could not resist asking:-- "Why?" "Oh, nothing," said Corancez. "I only wished to ask your opinion about her. I am not satisfied that she is very well. She was very charming last night, as usual, but nervous and melancholy. I am afraid her household affairs are going from bad to worse, and that brute of an Archduke is leading her a life of martyrdom--all the more because she has helped Verdier to marry Miss Marsh. Did you not know? Dickie, our friend of the Jenny, has left for the East with the Chésys, his niece, and Verdier on board. You can just imagine the Prince's fury." "So you think he is cruel with her?" asked Pierre. "I don't think it, I am sure. Go and see her, it will do her good. She feels a real affection for you. Of that I am convinced. And she was thinking about you, I feel certain, when she said that all her friends had abandoned her." So she was unhappy! While Corancez was speaking, it seemed to Pierre that he heard the echo of the sigh that had issued from the heart of the woman he loved so much! He saw again the sad, longing look of the mistress he judged so harshly. This indirect contact with her, short as it was, moved him deeply--so deeply, in fact, that Olivier noticed his agitation. He immediately suspected that something had happened. "I met Corancez leaving the hotel," he said. "Did you see him?" "He has just paid me a long visit," replied Pierre. He told Olivier the story of the two attempts which had been made upon the life of Andryana's husband. "He would only have had what he deserves," said Olivier. "You know what my opinion is about him and his marriage. Was that all he had to tell you?" There was a short silence. Then he added:-- "He did not speak to you of--you know whom?" "Yes," replied Pierre. "And it has pained you?" asked Olivier. "Very much." The two friends looked at each other. For the first time in six days they had made a definite allusion to the being constantly in their thoughts. Olivier hesitated, as if the words he was going to say were beyond his strength. Then he went on in a dull tone of voice:-- "Listen, Pierre," he began; "you are too miserable. This state of things cannot last. I am going away the day after to-morrow. Berthe is almost well again. The doctor authorizes her to return to Paris; he even advises it. Let things stay as they are for another forty-eight hours; then, when I am no longer here, return to her. I release you from your vow. I shall not see her, and I shall not know that you have seen her. Let what is past remain dead between us. You love her more than you love me. Let that love triumph."