All three of them made their way back, Leonor walking a little ahead. M. Hervart kept silence, for what he had to say demanded secrecy, and commonplace words were impossible. Rose did not notice the silence; she herself did not think of talking. She was happy, walking dose to her lover. Sometimes, furtively she stretched out her hand and squeezed one of his fingers. M. Hervart allowed his left arm to hang limply on purpose. Leonor did not turn round once, and Rose was grateful to him for that. M. Hervart, who felt that his secret had been guessed, would have preferred a less deliberate, a less suspicious discretion. "What have these architects come to do here?" he wondered. "It looks as though it had all been arranged by the Des Boys with a view to getting off their daughter. Will they come back? Leonor certainly will. And shall I be able to stay?" His perplexities began again. When Rose's hand touched his own, he felt himself her prisoner, her happy slave. As soon as the contact was removed, he was seized by ideas of flight and liberty. He would like to have called Leonor, flung Rose into his arms and made off across country. "I have never been so much disturbed by any amour. It's the question of marriage. What complications! I hate this fellow Leonor. But for him.... But for him? But is he the only man in the world? If I don't take her, it will be somebody else." Suddenly he drew closer to Rose and whispered frenziedly in her ear a stream of tender and violent words, "Rose, I love you, I desire you with all my being, I want you." Rose started, but these words responded so exactly to her own thoughts that she was only surprised by their suddenness. First she blushed, then a smile of happy sweetness lit up her face and her eyes shone with life and desire. They soon rejoined Lanfranc and M. Des Boys, who were confabulating over a glass of wine. A few minutes later the architects got into their carriage. At the moment when the groom let go of the horse's head, Leonor turned round. Rose realised that the gesture was meant for her; she slightly shrugged her shoulders. "I'm going to do a little painting," said M. Des Boys. "I caught sight of an interesting beetle at the top of the garden," said M. Hervart. "I'm going up to my room," said Rose. Five minutes later the two lovers had met again near the bench on which M. Hervart had meditated in vain. Without saying a word, Rose let herself fall into her lover's arms. Her drooping head revealed her neck, and M. Hervart kissed it with more passion than usual. His mouth pushed aside the collar of her dress, seeking her shoulder.