She came out of the house. As calm as ever. But very pale. . . . Who can tell all that had passed during those brief moments that she had been left alone: assaults of passion, grief, renunciation? . . . Roger saw nothing of all this, he was absorbed in himself. He went to her and sought to renew his protestations. She raised a finger to her lips: Silence! . . . At the hedge that enclosed the garden she plucked a branch of hawthorn, she broke it in two, and gave him half. And as she left the Rivière estate with him, on the very threshold, she pressed her lips to Roger's. They returned without a word, through the forest. Annette had begged him not to break the silence. He held her arm. His attitude was very tender. She was smiling, with her eyes half closed. And this time it was he who guided her steps. He did not recall that only an hour ago, at this very spot, he had wept. . . . In the depths of the forest the dog was barking in pursuit of game. . . . XVI She took her departure on the following day. Her excuse was a letter, a sudden illness of her old aunt. The Brissots were not completely fooled by this. For some time they had been more suspicious than Roger that Annette was escaping them. But it suited their dignity not to seem to admit this possibility, and to believe in the reasons given for this sudden departure. Up to the last moment they played a comedy of brief separation and early reunion. This constraint was painful to Annette; but Roger had begged her not to announce her decision until later, at Paris, and Annette admitted to herself that she would have found it hard to inform the Brissots by word of mouth. So, when they took leave of each other, they exchanged smiles, coy words and embraces from which the heart was absent. Roger again accompanied Annette in a carriage to the station. They were both sad. Roger had virtuously renewed his request to Annette that she should marry him; he felt that he was bound to: he was a gentleman. Too much of a one. He also felt that he had the right, now, to make his authority felt,--in the interest of Annette. He thought that because she had given herself, because Annette had abdicated, the situation between them was no longer quite equal, and that he must now demand marriage. Annette saw only too clearly that, if he married her now, he would think himself justified a thousand times more than ever in playing her guardian. Of course, she was grateful to him for his correct insistence. But . . . she refused. Roger was secretly irritated by this. He no longer understood her. . . . (He thought that he had always understood her!) . . . And he judged her severely. He did not show it. But she guessed it, with mingled sorrow and irony, and always tenderness. . . . (He was still Roger! . . .) When they had nearly arrived, she placed her gloved hand on Roger's hand. He started: "Annette!" "Let us forgive each other!" she said.