In their haste to be united, their bodies collided. Their arms went around each other. Their lips sought, and found . . . "My own Annette!" "My own Sylvie!" "My sister! my love!" "My little darling!" In the darkness they were running their hands caressingly over cheeks and hair, over neck and shoulders, once more taking possession of happiness, of the friend who had been lost. "Darling!" exclaimed Sylvie, feeling Annette's bare shoulders, "you haven't your cloak! You have nothing around you! . . ." Annette realized that as a matter of fact she was clad only in her evening dress; and, seized by a chill, she shivered. "You are mad! you are mad!" cried Sylvie, enveloping her, clasping her in her cape. And her hands, continuing their inspection, took note of damages. "Your dress is torn. . . . What in the world have you been doing? What has happened? . . . And your hair is down over your face. And here, here, what's the matter with your forehead? . . . Annette, did you fall? . . ." Annette did not respond. With her mouth on Sylvie's shoulder, she abandoned herself and wept. Sylvie made her sit down beside her on a bank by the road. The moon, clearing the barrier of the mountains, lighted up Annette's injured forehead, and Sylvie covered it with kisses. "Tell me what you have been doing. . . . Tell me what's happened. . . . My treasure, my little lamb, I was so upset when I went to your room and didn't find you there! I called you everywhere. . . . I've been hunting for you for an hour. . . . Oh! I was so miserable. . . . I was afraid, I was afraid. . . . I can't say what I was afraid of. . . . Why did you go off? Why did you run away? . . ." Annette did not wish to reply. "I don't know," she said. "I felt ill, and I wanted to walk . . . to breathe. . . ." "No, you aren't telling the truth, Annette; tell me everything!" Then she bent over her and said more softly: "Dear heart, it wasn't because of that? . . ." Annette interrupted her: "No! No!" But Sylvie insisted. "Don't lie! Tell me the truth. Tell me! Tell your little one! It was because of him?" Annette, wiping her eyes and trying to smile, replied: "No, I assure you. . . . I was a little hurt, it's true. . . . It's foolish. . . . But it's all over now. I'm glad he loves you." Sylvie jumped up and struck her hands angrily together. "So it was he! Oh! But I don't love him, I don't love him any more, that creature! . . ." "Yes, you do love him. . . ." "No! No! No!" Sylvie stamped on the road. "It amused me to love him, I did it as a game; but it meant nothing to me, nothing in comparison with you. . . . Why! All a man's kisses couldn't make up for one of your tears. . . ." Annette was overwhelmed with happiness. "You mean it? You mean it?" Sylvie sprang into her arms. When they had grown somewhat calmer, Sylvie said to Annette: "Now confess! You loved him, too!" "Too! Now you see! You admit that you loved him. . . ."