"I know that too. Ah! Frédérique, _you_ are kind-hearted; you have a generous heart, superior to the prejudices of society. You would not have run away from me, then closed your door to me, simply because a man in cap and blouse had called me his friend!" Frédérique turned her face away, but her voice trembled as she replied: "No, of course not! But you must forgive such foibles--the result of a false way of looking at things." "Forgive jeers, sarcasm, insults, neglect, if you please; I can understand that; but contempt! never! Love must necessarily be destroyed where contempt shows its head." "But suppose that she has repented of her treatment of you?" "True; she may have done so, since she has learned that her husband is a spy!" "Rochebrune! that was a very spiteful remark of yours!" "I am entitled to say what I think of that lady." "You are very angry with her, which proves that you still love her." "When you mention her to me, I remember how she treated me; but for that, I should not think of her at all. In short, I no longer love her." "You say that because she isn't here. But if you should find yourself looking into her lovely eyes----" "I should remember the way they looked at me at our last interview on the Champs-Élysées; and I assure you that those eyes would no longer endanger my repose." "Really? do you no longer love Armantine?" Frédérique turned toward me as she asked the question, and I had never seen such an expression of satisfaction and pleasure in her eyes. "If I still loved her, why should I conceal it from you? You know, we are to tell each other everything now." "True; for we are friends now. We won't lose our tempers with each other any more, will we?" "I wasn't the one who lost my temper." "You will come to see me, I hope?" "You will allow me to?" "Of course, as the past is only a dream. And I will come to your rooms--as a friend. I am a man, you know. I don't see why I should not come to see you--unless, of course, it would displease you?" "Never!" "In any event, when you have company, or when you expect some fair one, you can tell me so, and I will leave you at liberty. It's agreed, isn't it? I shall not come to see you on any other condition." "It's agreed." I took Frédérique's hand again and pressed it warmly, nor did she think of withdrawing it. At that moment, we passed a riding party. The young dandies of whom it was composed glanced into our carriage as they passed. Frédérique suddenly turned pale. I looked up, and recognized one of the cavaliers as Monsieur Saint-Bergame. At the same moment I heard his voice, and distinguished this sentence, the last words coming very indistinctly as he receded: "Ah! so it's that fellow now! Each in his turn!"