Those words distressed me greatly, and yet, could I be sure that they were addressed to me? I could not try to ascertain; but in spite of myself, I moved nearer to Caroline, who had dropped her head sadly upon her breast, and I took her hand, which I had never done before; but she seemed so depressed that I longed to comfort her. I did not know what to say to her. I dared not ask her the reason of her determination. We sat a long while thus without speaking; my hand gently pressed hers, but that did not comfort her, for tears poured from her eyes. Then I put my arm about her waist; I felt her heart beat beneath my fingers. I almost breathed her breath. Suddenly she pushed me away, moved her chair away from mine and exclaimed: “Ah! I did not believe that I was so weak; but at all events I will not be wicked; no, I will not add to the grief of a woman whom I pity, whose happiness I would like to restore. And since I am unable to conceal my feelings from you, we must meet henceforth only in company, only before strangers; yes, I swear to you that this is the last tête-à-tête that we shall have.” Having said this, she hurried from the salon, and I left the house, realizing that we should in truth do well to avoid each other. XXIV THE SPECTRE After my last tête-à-tête with Caroline I went less frequently to her house, and never went there without my children. The season was advancing; we were to stay in the country but a short time, and I took them to walk with me in the woods every day. Sometimes Madame Ernest went with us; I noticed that she was more friendly with me, that she was in better spirits since I had ceased to pass so much time at Monsieur Roquencourt’s. I concluded that she must have something against her neighbors. But as she was as kind and attentive as always to me and my children, and as her husband’s affection for me showed no diminution, I asked them for nothing more. I often noticed that Madame Ernest seemed to want to speak to me. I could read faces well enough to feel sure that she had something to say to me. But if that was so, what prevented her? When I was lost in thought, I saw her scrutinize me furtively, then look at my children; but she either said nothing or talked about things which could not interest me. One afternoon we all went into the forest of Vincennes together. I led Henriette and Eugène by the hand, and Madame Ernest led her little son and daughter. Night was approaching. As we entered a shaded path, Eugène cried: “Oh! I’m afraid of the spectre here!” “Of the spectre?” I said, taking him in my arms. “Who has told you anything about a spectre, my dear?” “The nurse,” cried Madame Ernest’s little girl; “she says there’s a spectre in our house, and that she’s seen it in the garden.” “Your nurse is a silly creature, and so are you, mademoiselle,” said her mother hastily; “I shall forbid her to talk to you about such things.”