"Yes," replied the widow, "I think so. If he were deceiving me--But no! after the hopes he has had it is not possible, is it, my boy? You can't cheat the eyes of a mother who adores you?" "No, of course not. Sleep in peace, dear aunt! I will go to bid Julien good-day.--If he is really deceiving his mother after the failure of his hopes," he thought as he looked for Julien among the shrubbery, "he must be a devilishly strong fellow!" Julien was digging a little hole in which to transplant a tree. He wore a linen blouse and his head was bare. Standing in the loose earth, with his hands resting on the handle of his spade, like a laborer taking breath, he was musing so deeply that he did not hear his cousin's step, and Marcel, who saw his profile only, was profoundly impressed by the expression of his face. That manly countenance did not as yet bear the marks of sorrow which were already impairing Julie's beauty; but it had the tense, drawn look of despair which Marcel had had an opportunity to study on her face. Julien spied his cousin, did not start at sight of him, and greeted him with a smile. It was precisely the same smile of lifeless affability with which Julie greeted him, a sweet but terrible smile, like that which we sometimes see playing about the lips of a dying man. "This looks bad!" thought Marcel. "He is devilishly strong, no doubt, but he is probably the sicker of the two." Marcel in his distress had not the strength to conceal his emotion. He loved Julien dearly; his prudence deserted him. "Tell me," he said, "is anything the matter, are you unhappy?" "Yes, my friend, you know very well that I am unhappy," replied the artist, dropping his spade and walking with his cousin under the trees. "How could it possibly be otherwise? You are well aware that I loved a certain woman, for my mother told you so. That woman has gone away. Don't tell me that she will return; I know perfectly well that she must return; but I know too that it is my duty never to seek her presence again, and to say to myself that she is dead to me." "And--have you the courage to accept that conclusion?" said Marcel. "Yes, if it is my duty! You understand, my friend, that a man must always accept his duty." "Men submit to it with different degrees of courage: a man----" "Yes, a man is a man. I am terribly unhappy, Marcel! I propose to endure it. I could endure it alone, you may be sure of that, but you can help me a little. Why do you refuse? What you have been doing the last two months is very cruel." "How can I help you?" said Marcel, suspecting some stratagem devised by passion to discover Julie's retreat. "_Mon Dieu!_" replied Julien, reading his friend's thoughts, "it's a very simple matter; you can tell me that she is happier than I am, that is all." "How can I know?"