Armantine was really very fascinating; while "confessing her sins," she indulged in a thousand coquettish little manoeuvres which would have turned many a man's head. But I was in love with another woman, and that love must have been most sincere, for Armantine's tender glances had no effect whatever on my heart. "I bear you no ill will at all, madame," I said, with a smile. "That episode faded from my memory long ago, and I supposed that it was the same with you. You owe me no apology; indeed, as you know, time changes the aspect of many things. To-day, it seems to me that that old story does not deserve a moment's thought from either of us. Au revoir, madame! With your permission, I will continue my walk." I rose and bowed. Armantine was speechless, utterly crushed; she did not look at me, she did not even respond to my salutation. I had just left the house, and was about to resume my walk, when I saw Frédérique standing a few steps away, with her eyes fixed upon me. I walked hastily toward her. Her pallor terrified me; the fixed stare of her eyes cut me to the heart. I tried to take her hand; she snatched it away. "What is the matter?" I asked. "Nothing." "What were you doing here?" "I wanted to see you come out of her house. I was certain that you were there." "At Madame Sordeville's? It was the merest chance, my going in. I was passing, and----" "You have no need to apologize, or to try to invent excuses. I have told you a hundred times that you were your own master, that you might have ten mistresses if you chose, that I did not claim any right to interfere with your affections. But I do not like to have people lie to me, deceive me, disguise their thoughts." "I have done none of those things, Frédérique; and if you will listen to me----" "Later--not now. Adieu!" "Are you going to leave me? Won't you come to walk with me?" "No! I have something to do, I am going home." "I am going home, too." "No; continue your walk, I beg you. It would annoy me if you should go home with me. You see that my nerves are all on edge, that a trifle upsets me. Leave me, my friend; au revoir!" She hurried away; I feared to vex her by following her. She was there in the road, watching for me; she wanted to see if I was with Armantine. And that sadness that I read in her eyes, and that she tried in vain to dissemble--was not that jealousy? If she had no warmer feeling than friendship for me, would she be jealous of Armantine? Even though I were mistaken, even though the result were to break off our relations again, I determined that I would no longer make a secret of my sentiments, of my consuming love for her. I resolved that I would tell her all, that very day. It was no longer possible for me to be content with the rôle of a friend.