"Does he love me as much as that? Does he love me with the passion that I thought that I detected the first day?--Ah! that is the question that I ask myself incessantly, that is all that troubles me, that is something that neither my conscience nor my reason, nor my heart can tell me. Perhaps he has only a friendly feeling for me, for he is a good son, and he is grateful to me for what I tried to do for his mother. He owes me gratitude and he proves his gratitude by admirable devotion. And what then? Why should he love me madly? why should he want to pass his life at my feet? He has no craving for it, for he is never at hand except on occasions when I may need him. The rest of the time he gives his mind to his real duties, his work, his mother, perhaps to some girl of his own station who will bring him a comfortable dowry--whereas I, a poor, ruined--But am I ruined?--If my husband's father has provided for my future, I am still a _grande dame_--and in that case--in that case everything in my dream is changed; I forget this young man who is not suited to me, I marry a man in society, at my choice, I am proud and happy, I love without perplexity and without shame.--Oh, yes! But now it is _he_, no stranger, no other than he, whom I love; it is he alone, and I do not know whether one can be cured of that. I do not know if one ever forgets. I fear not, since the more I try, the more utterly I fail; the more I defend myself, the more completely I am beaten. My God, my God! in all this there is but one real fear, one real torture: and that is the fear that he does not love me! How shall I find out? Perhaps I shall never find out. Can I live without it?" Tormenting herself thus, she found herself quite near the pavilion, having no idea how she came there. The door was open, a black figure stood in the doorway. Julien, as if he had overheard her thoughts, as if he were irresistibly impelled to answer them, came straight to her side. Julie at once recovered her reason and her pride. Taken by surprise, she was about to speak in the character of an insulted queen. He did not give her time. "Why are you here, madame?" he said. "Can you not get in? Are your servants asleep, or are they all expecting you to come from the street? You cannot pass the night in the garden, dressed as you are. It is two o'clock. The dew is falling, you will be frozen, you will be ill. And your hood is over your shoulder, your head bare, your arms hardly covered. Here, take this heavy mantle of my mother's at once, and forgive me for being here." "But how did you know?"