By the sadness of her accent he believed, he wished to believe, in the expression of an affectionate reproach. His face colored. He replied, ardently: "Ah, if I could have foreseen! That hunting party--I cared little for it, as you may think! But you--your letter, that of the twenty-seventh" --he had a gift for dates--"has thrown me into a horrible anxiety. Something has happened. Tell me everything." "My friend, I believed you had ceased to love me." "But now that you know the contrary?" "Now--" She paused, her arms fell before her and her hands were joined. Then, with affected tranquillity, she continued: "Well, my friend, we took each other without knowing. One never knows. You are young; younger than I, since we are of the same age. You have, doubtless, projects for the future." He looked at her proudly. She continued: "Your family, your mother, your aunts, your uncle the General, have projects for you. That is natural. I might have become an obstacle. It is better that I should disappear from your life. We shall keep a fond remembrance of each other." She extended her gloved hand. He folded his arms: "Then, you do not want me? You have made me happy, as no other man ever was, and you think now to brush me aside? Truly, you seem to think you have finished with me. What have you come to say to me? That it was a liaison, which is easily broken? That people take each other, quit each other--well, no! You are not a person whom one can easily quit." "Yes," said Therese, "you had perhaps given me more of your heart than one does ordinarily in such 180 cases. I was more than an amusement for you. But, if I am not the woman you thought I was, if I have deceived you, if I am frivolous--you know people have said so--well, if I have not been to you what I should have been--" She hesitated, and continued in a brave tone, contrasting with what she said: "If, while I was yours, I have been led astray; if I have been curious; if I say to you that I was not made for serious sentiment--" He interrupted her: "You are not telling the truth." "No, I am not telling the truth. And I do not know how to lie. I wished to spoil our past. I was wrong. It was--you know what it was. But--" "But?" "I have always told you I was not sure of myself. There are women, it is said, who are sure of themselves. I warned you that I was not like them." He shook his head violently, like an irritated animal. "What do you mean? I do not understand. I understand nothing. Speak clearly. There is something between us. I do not know what. I demand to know what it is. What is it?" "There is the fact that I am not a woman sure of herself, and that you should not rely on me. No, you should not rely on me. I had promised nothing--and then, if I had promised, what are words?"