"Indeed, I am not a weakling; look at that." She extended her arms, laughing. "They are solid." "And this?" Barabant touched the sling. "Oh, that was the Citoyen Goursac." "Who?" "Your neighbor below, a brown man who buries his chin like this, and scowls. That reminds me, it is time he should see you." "Nicole!" "Well, what?" "Not now; not just yet." "Why not?" "I wish to talk with you." "The idea, as though I had nothing to do!" She raised her foot and stamped twice. "I have a desire to dine to-night, thank you." "Where are you going?" "I'm going to work." She picked up her possessions and made for the window, while Barabant cried excitedly: "Nicole, I have not thanked you. Wait, let me thank you." "Why?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I'd do that for any one." Barabant raised himself on his elbow and threatened, half angrily: "Nicole, if you go, I'll follow you. I swear I'll follow you. I will. Look at me. I swear I will!" "What good will it do you? I'll be gone." She shook her head, and, deaf to his entreaties, disappeared; while Barabant, furious, fell back, baffled and perplexed, little suspecting the awakening that was taking place in Nicole. VII THE FEAR OF HAPPINESS When Nicole reached her room, she found Geneviève up and waiting. "What are you doing, child?" she cried sharply, to cover her confusion. "Why are you here?" "I--I am waiting," Geneviève stammered, "to see if I could do anything for you." "There is nothing. I am going out now myself." "What!" cried the child, opening her eyes wide. "You are not going to stay with the poor fellow?" "There is no need. He is well." "But I thought--" She stopped, in confusion, and then clumsily beat a retreat to the door. "I'll go now. I--I only _wanted_ to be of service." Nicole waited only long enough to be sure of Geneviève's departure before descending in turn. Her little room was too narrow; it choked her. She had need of the open span of the sky to think over the new emotions. After an hour of unprofitable solitude, feeling the need of a confidence which would lessen the tension of her thoughts, she sought Goursac, beginning timidly with the question: "And the Citoyen Barabant, how is he?" "Why, he is still alive, clamoring for you like a lost child for his mother." "Goursac, my old friend," she said, taking his arm, "be serious and gentle for once. I am unhappy, and I want to talk with you." "Ah, you love him," he said bitterly. "Yes," she said slowly, as though the revelation had just come, "I love him." "Then why do you avoid him?" "I am afraid." "Of what?" "Of loving him too much." "I don't understand."