Flavie was bewildered; she was, however, awake to the extreme frankness of such language, and she said to herself, “He is not a secret manoeuvrer, certainly.”  Moreover, she admitted to her own mind that no one had ever so deeply stirred and excited her as this young man.

“Monsieur,” she said, “I do not know who could have put into your mind so great an error as to my life, nor by what right you—­”

“Ah! pardon me, madame,” interrupted the Provencal with a coolness that smacked of contempt.  “I must have dreamed it.  I said to myself, ‘She is all that!’ But I see I was judging from the outside.  I know now why you are living and will always live on a fourth floor in the rue d’Enfer.”

And he pointed his speech with an energetic gesture toward the Colleville windows, which could be seen through the passage from the alley of the Luxembourg, where they were walking alone, in that immense tract trodden by so many and various young ambitions.

“I have been frank, and I expected reciprocity,” resumed Theodose.  “I myself have had days without food, madame; I have managed to live, pursue my studies, obtain my degree, with two thousand francs for my sole dependence; and I entered Paris through the Barriere d’Italie, with five hundred francs in my pocket, firmly resolved, like one of my compatriots, to become, some day, one of the foremost men of our country.  The man who has often picked his food from baskets of scraps where the restaurateurs put their refuse, which are emptied at six o’clock every morning—­that man is not likely to recoil before any means,—­avowable, of course.  Well, do you think me the friend of the people?” he said, smiling.  “One has to have a speaking-trumpet to reach the ear of Fame; she doesn’t listen if you speak with your lips; and without fame of what use is talent?  The poor man’s advocate means to be some day the advocate of the rich.  Is that plain speaking?  Don’t I open my inmost being to you?  Then open your heart to me.  Say to me, ‘Let us be friends,’ and the day will come when we shall both be happy.”

“Good heavens! why did I ever come here?  Why did I ever take your arm?” cried Flavie.

“Because it is in your destiny,” he replied.  “Ah! my dear, beloved Flavie,” he added, again pressing her arm upon his heart, “did you expect to hear the vulgarities of love from me?  We are brother and sister; that is all.”

And he led her towards the passage to return to the rue d’Enfer.

Flavie felt a sort of terror in the depths of the contentment which all women find in violent emotions; and she took that terror for the sort of fear which a new passion always excites; but for all that, she felt she was fascinated, and she walked along in absolute silence.

“What are you thinking of?” asked Theodose, when they reached the middle of the passage.

“Of what you have just said to me,” she answered.

“At our age,” he said, “it is best to suppress preliminaries; we are not children; we both belong to a sphere in which we should understand each other.  Remember this,” he added, as they reached the rue d’Enfer.  —­“I am wholly yours.”