"'Let us go back,' I said, somewhat brusquely. 'The train to Paris leaves at five.' "'We shall take the next one.' "'No, Anne, it is better to go back now.' "And I explained to her gently, as an arrangement of necessity, that it was better that we did not see each other again, at least, not for a while. I was amazed at the peace which followed my exaltation. She protested energetically, almost violently. "'No, no, I cannot lose you. You have become indispensable to my moral life. Since I met you my dull days have taken on color. I do not wish to fall back into my old state of indifference.' "The unexpected outburst surprised me. "'But how about me?' "'Cannot a man love unselfishly? I shall help you.' "'To forget you?' "'Yes. You will have no difficulty. In seeing me frequently you will not fail to see that I am no longer beautiful. A sincere friendship is not impossible. Will you not try? I ask it of you.' "Her request was disconcerting insistence. By what strange and sudden change was she now pleading with me? I concluded by saying: "'Let us decide nothing, Anne. Circumstances will decide for us.' "'No, not circumstances. We! I assure you that we can.' "During this discussion darkness had come on. Between the branches the sky was crimson. We had to hurry to escape the cold. In the carriage we looked at each other without speaking. The light which served as a background to the tree-trunks grew fainter by degrees, and the forest embraced us with added mystery. The wheels made no noise; only the sound of the horses' hoofs could be heard sinking into the thick bed of sand as we rode along the avenue. It was a dull, regular sound. Nothing disturbed our emotion. I took her hand which was still ungloved and raised it to my lips. It was frozen, but its touch was like fire to me. "'Friends, are we not?' she said to me later as she left me. "She smiled. I feared to promise more than I could perform, so I said nothing, nothing. The impressions of nature, of art which I have enjoyed alone all these years, that I wanted to enjoy alone, to gain a deeper understanding of them, I now share with her. She has broadened my outlook on life." "November: I have hardly been out of the house for a fortnight. I tried to become absorbed in my work. At the time I generally went to see her, I feel as though fever had attacked me. No longer able to bear it, I told her so last evening. "'Why do you not come?' she replied, laughing. 'I shall give you some quinine.'"