“Paule,” she could hear in the voice that was for ever hushed, “do not be anxious, you will be happy some day.” Since Jean’s return she accepted her life bravely and without bitterness. She felt a kind of stoical happiness which satisfied her after so many blows. Was that the happiness Marcel had meant? In this peaceful hour, the vague longing for joy of another kind rose up in her. Still, she did not know that the time had come. Jean made up his mind to speak. “I have been speaking to your mother, Paule, of my plans for the future,” he said. She looked at him. “Your leave is up already? You are going away again soon?” “I am not going back to the regiment.” In her surprise she waited for his explanation. “I am going to resign.” “You, Jean! Oh, that is a mistake. You are not thirty yet, you have the Legion of Honor and you are giving up your career! What would Marcel have thought?” “Marcel would have agreed with me--because I shall serve France in another way, which will not be less useful. From being a soldier I shall become a colonist. I have written to your brother Étienne, who finds his work at Tonkin too much for him. I am going to join him.” “Oh,” she said. “How glad they will be out there! They know what good friends you and Marcel were. You will tell them about him as you have told us. You will see my nephew and my niece. You will know them before I do.” The shadows were falling over the plain and began to climb the mountain slopes. Over Lake Bourget far away, hung a violet haze, mingling itself by degrees in the pink and gold of the sky. Evening was enveloping still nature like a blessing. Jean rose and stood before the girl. “Your brothers would be much happier if they knew my other plan.” And lowering his eyes to the ground, he added more gently: “It is a plan infinitely dear to me. Your mother knows what it is.” He looked at her and saw with surprise that she suspected nothing. He admired this forgetfulness of self, and gravely, with deep tenderness, brought out the decisive words at last: “Paule, I love you. Will you be my wife and go out there with me?” She rose in her turn, unable to speak and deathly pale. Her heaving bosom showed the tumult of her heart. He continued: “I love you, Paule. Did you not know it? Did you not guess it? When I came back from Algiers I found you so brave--and so beautiful. Oh, don’t say no! During the crossing of the Sahara, I remember, Marcel often told me, when we were talking about Savoy, that you were your mother’s comfort. Whenever I was looking for something to stir up my energy, some picture to cheer me and arouse my courage, I thought of you. I know I have always loved you, since the time we were children, when I laughed at your long black hair. My happiness lies in your hands, Paule. Will you not give it to me?”