He muttered. “My mother was unhappy and humiliated. I wished to set her free.” “By thieving?” “I was six years old,” he protested. “To-day you’re twenty; your mother is dead; you’re robust, intelligent, and overflowing with energy. How do you make a living?” “I work!” he snapped. “Yes: in other people’s pockets.” She gave him no time to deny it. “You needn’t say anything, Ralph,” she went on quickly. “I know your life down to the last details. And I could tell you things about yourself that would astonish you, things that happened this year, and things that happened years ago. For I’ve been following your career for a very long time and the things I should tell you would certainly not be a bit more pleasant hearing than the things you heard not so very long ago at the inn. Detectives? Policemen? Inquiries? Prosecutions?... You’ve been perfectly well acquainted with them, quite as well acquainted with them as I am, and you’re not twenty! Is it really worth while for us to reproach one another? Hardly. Since I know your life and since chance has uncovered for you a corner of mine, let us throw a veil over both. The act of theft is not a pretty one. Let us turn away our eyes and say nothing about it.” He remained silent. A great weariness invaded him. All at once he saw existence in a gloomy and depressing light in which nothing any longer had color, nothing beauty or graciousness. He could have wept. She paused, frowning thoughtfully and rather sadly, then she said: “Well, for the last time, good-by.” “N-n-no.... N-n-no!” he stammered. “But it must be good-by, Ralph. I should only do you harm. Do not try to mingle your life with mine. You have ambition, energy, and such qualities that you can choose your path.” She paused and said in a lower voice: “The path I follow is not a good one, Ralph.” “Why do you follow it, Josine? That’s exactly what frightens me.” “It’s too late to find another,” she murmured. “Then it’s too late for me too!” “No: you’re young. Save yourself. Fly from the fate with which you are threatened.” “But you, Josine.... But you?” “It’s my life,” she declared. “A dreadful life, which simply causes you suffering,” he asserted. “If you think so, why do you wish to share it?” “Because I love you.” “All the more reason to fly from me, my dear. Any love between us is damned beforehand. You would blush for me; and I should distrust you.” “I love you,” he persisted. “To-day. But to-morrow? Obey the order I gave you on my photograph the very first night we met: ‘Do not seek to see me again.’ Now go.” “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes. You’re right. But it’s terrible to think that everything is at an end between us before even I have had the time to hope ... and that you will forget me.” “One does not forget a person who has saved one’s life twice.” “No: but you will forget that I love you.” She shook her head and said: “I shall not forget.”