“Not at first, but I pointed out to him that the grandmother is seventy years of age; that if she were only to live another two or three years, God grant it may be more! it would only be two or three years of some extra trouble for us, whereas, in all probability we had long years of life before us. Then he understood that it was right to give to those that had least.” But all the while that Agnelette was giving this explanation, Thibault could think of nothing but that the love she once had for him was not yet dead. “So,” said Thibault, “you loved me? and so, Agnelette you could love me again...?” “That is impossible now because I belong to another.” “Agnelette, Agnelette! only say that you love me!” “No, Thibault, if I loved you, I should do everything in the world to hide it from you.” “And why?” cried Thibault. “Why? you do not know my power. I know that I have only a wish or two left, but with your help, by combining these wishes together, I could make you as rich as a queen.... We could leave the country, leave France, Europe; there are large countries, of which you do not even know the names, Agnelette, called America and India. They are paradises, with blue skies, tall trees and birds of every kind. Agnelette, say that you will come with me; nobody will know that we have gone off together, nobody will know where we are, nobody will know that we love one another, nobody will know even that we are alive.” “Fly with you, Thibault!” said Agnelette, looking at the wolf-leader as if she had but half understood what he said, “do you forget that I no longer belong to myself? do you not know that I am married?” “What does that matter,” said Thibault, “if it is I whom you love, and if we can live happily together!” “Oh! Thibault! Thibault! what are you saying!” “Listen,” went on Thibault, “I am going to speak to you in the name of this world and the next. Do you wish to save me, Agnelette, body and soul? If so, do not resist my pleading, have pity on me, come with me; let us go somewhere together, where we shall no longer hear these howlings, or breathe this atmosphere of reeking flesh; and, if it scares you to think of being a rich, grand lady, somewhere then where I can again be Thibault the workman, Thibault, poor but beloved, and, therefore, Thibault happy in his hard work, some place where Agnelette will have no other husband but me.” “Ah! Thibault! I was ready to become your wife, and you scorned me!” “Do not remember my sins, Agnelette, which have been so cruelly punished.”