It was a horrible ordeal for her, after the hope that had excited her, and this time it was real tears that flowed down her cheeks. The sound of the sobs roused Philippe from his dream. He listened to it sadly and then began to pace the room. Moved though he was, what was passing within him troubled him even more. He loved Suzanne! It did not for a second occur to him to deny the truth. From the first sentences that Suzanne had spoken and without his having to seek for further proofs, he had admitted his love even as one admits the presence of a thing that one sees and touches. And that was why Suzanne, at the mere sight of Philippe's attitude, had suddenly realized the imprudence which she had committed in speaking: Philippe, once warned, was escaping her. He was one of those men who become conscious of their duty at the very moment when they perceive their fault. "Philippe!" she said, once more. "Philippe!" As he did not reply, she took his hand again and whispered: "You love me, though ... you love me.... Well, then, if you love me ..." The tears did not disfigure her exquisite face. On the contrary, grief decked her with a new, graver and more touching beauty. And she ended, ingenuously enough: "Then, if you love me, why do you repel me? Surely, when one loves, one does not repel the thing one loves.... And you love me...." The pretty mouth was all entreaty. Philippe observed its voluptuous action. It was as though the two lips delighted in uttering words of love and as though they could pronounce no others. He turned away his eyes to escape the fascination and, controlling himself, mastering his voice so that she might not perceive its tremor, he said: "It is just because I love you, Suzanne, that I am repulsing you ... because I love you too well...." The phrase implied a breach which she felt to be irreparable. She did not attempt to protest. It was finished. And she knew this so thoroughly that, a moment later, when Philippe opened the door and prepared to go away, she did not even raise her head. He did not go, however, for fear of offending her. He sat down. There was only a little table between them. But how far he was from her! And how it must surprise her that all her feminine wiles, her coquetry, the allurement of her lips were powerless to subjugate the will of that man who loved her! The belfry-clock struck ten. When Morestal and Jorance arrived, Suzanne and Philippe had not exchanged a single word. * * * "Ready to start, Philippe?" cried Morestal. "Have you said good-bye to Suzanne?" She replied: "Yes, we have said good-bye." "Well, then it's my turn," he said, kissing her. "Jorance, it's settled that you're coming with us." "As far as the Butte-aux-Loups." "If you go as far as the Butte," said Suzanne to her father, "you may just as well go on to the Old Mill and come back by the high-road."