'My dear, dear boy!' I exclaimed. 'Are we to outrage our consciences simply because people think we have outraged them?' 'It isn't my conscience--it's yours,' he said. 'Well, then--mine.' I drew down my veil; I could scarcely keep dry eyes. 'Why are you so hard, Carlotta?' he cried. 'I can't understand you. I never could. But you'll kill me--that's what you'll do.' Impulsively I leaned forward; and he seized my hand. Our antagonism melted in tears. Oh the cruel joy of that moment! Who will dare to say that the spirit cannot burn with pleasure while drowning in grief? Or that tragedy may not be the highest bliss? That instant of renunciation was our true marriage. I realize it now--a union that nothing can soil nor impair. 'I love you; you are fast and fast in my heart,' I murmured. 'But you must go back to Mary. There is nothing else.' And I withdrew my hand. He shook his head. 'You've no right, my dearest, to tell me to go back to Mary. I cannot.' 'Forgive me,' I said. 'I have only the right to ask you to leave me.' 'Then there is no hope?' His lips trembled. Ah! those lips! I made a sign that there was no hope. And we sat in silence, overcome. A servant came to arrange the compartment for sleeping, and we were obliged to assume nonchalance and go into the corridor. All the windows of the corridor were covered with frost traceries. The train with its enclosed heat and its gleaming lamps was plunging through an ice-gripped night. I thought of the engine-driver, perched on his shaking, snorting, monstrous machine, facing the weather, with our lives and our loves in his hand. 'We'll leave each other now, Frank,' I said, 'before the people begin to come back from dinner. Go and eat something.' 'But you?' 'I shall be all right. Yvonne will get me some fruit. I shall stay in our compartment till we arrive.' 'Yes. And when we do arrive--what then? What are your wishes? You see, I can't leave the train before we get to Mentone because of my registered luggage.' He spoke appealingly. The dear thing, with his transparent pretexts! 'You can ignore us at the station, and then leave Mentone again during the day.' 'As you wish,' he said. 'Good-night!' I whispered. 'Good-bye!' And I turned to my compartment. 'Carlotta!' he cried despairingly. But I shut the door and drew the blinds. Yvonne was discretion itself when she returned. She had surely seen Frank. No doubt she anticipated piquant developments at Mentone.