It was a touching moment. Much moved, the man put his arm round the girl's waist. His hand took possession of the little hand that she surrendered to him. He had only to turn and bend his head a little, and he was kissing, close below the hair, a white forehead, feverishly moist. He felt her abandonment to him becoming more deliberate; the hand he was holding squeezed his own. Rose made an abrupt movement which parted them, and looking full at M. Hervart, her face radiant with tenderness, she said: "I'm not unhappy now." She got up, and they moved away together through the wood, exchanging little insignificant phrases in voices full of tenderness. Each time their eyes met, they smiled. They kept on fingering leaves, flowers, mere pieces of wood, so as to have an excuse for touching each other's hand. Coming to a clearing where they could walk abreast, they allowed their arms on the inner side to hang limply down, so that their hands touched and were soon joined. There was a silence, prolonged and very delightful. Each, meanwhile, was absorbed in his own thoughts. "Obviously," M. Hervart was saying to himself, "if I have any sense left, I shall take the train home. First of all, I must go to Cherbourg and send a telegram to some one who can send a wire to recall me. What a nuisance! I was joying myself so much here. To whom shall I appeal? To Gratienne? I shall have to write a letter in that case, to concoct some story. Three or four days longer won't make matters any worse; I know these young girls. Time doesn't exist for them; they live in the absolute. So long as there's no jealousy--and I don't see how there can be--I shall be all right. She is really charming--Rose. Lord! what a state of excitement I'm in! But I must be reasonable. I shall tell Gratienne to meet me at Grandcamp. She has been longing to go to Grandcamp ever since she read that novel about the place. Besides, there are the rocks. I'm quite indifferent provided I get away from here...." "What are you thinking about?" "Can you ask, my dear child?" A squeeze from the little hand showed that his answer had been understood. Silence settled down once more. "Gratienne? At this very moment she's probably with another lover. But then, think of leaving a woman alone in Paris, in July? 'I am never bored. I dine at Mme. Fleury's every day; she loves having me. We start for Honfleur on the 25th. You must come and see us.' She imagines that Honfleur is close to Cherbourg. 'I am never bored,' Come, come; When women speak so clearly, it means they have nothing to hide.... On the contrary it's one of their tricks...." "Well, my child, how's your wretchedness? Is it all over?" "I am very happy," Rose answered. A look from her big limpid eyes confirmed these solemn words and M. Hervart was more moved than at the moment of her surrender. The idea that he was the cause of this child's happiness filled him with pride.