She made a sign that she knew.

He continued: 

“The Rosebud, a beautiful yacht.  There were six men in the crew.  I manoeuvred with them.  It was a pastime.”

He paused.  She was walking slowly, saddened, and, above all, annoyed.  It seemed to her an absurd and painful thing, beyond all expression, to have to listen to such words from a stranger.

He continued: 

“What I suffered on that boat I should be ashamed to tell you.”

She felt he spoke the truth.

“Oh, I forgive you—­I have reflected alone a great deal.  I passed many nights and days on the divan of the deckhouse, turning always the same ideas in my mind.  For six months I have thought more than I ever did in my life.  Do not laugh.  There is nothing like suffering to enlarge the mind.  I understand that if I have lost you the fault is mine.  I should have known how to keep you.  And I said to myself:  ’I did not know.  Oh; if I could only begin again!’ By dint of thinking and of suffering, I understand.  I know now that I did not sufficiently share your tastes and your ideas.  You are a superior woman.  I did not notice it before, because it was not for that that I loved you.  Without suspecting it, I irritated you.”

She shook her head.  He insisted.

“Yes, yes, I often wounded your feelings.  I did not consider your delicacy.  There were misunderstandings between us.  The reason was, we have not the same temperament.  And then, I did not know how to amuse you.  I did not know how to give you the amusement you need.  I did not procure for you the pleasures that a woman as intelligent as you requires.”

So simple and so true was he in his regrets and in his pain, she found him worthy of sympathy.  She said to him, softly: 

“My friend, I never had reason to complain of you.”

He continued: 

“All I have said to you is true.  I understood this when I was alone in my boat.  I have spent hours on it to which I would not condemn my worst enemy.  Often I felt like throwing myself into the water.  I did not do it.  Was it because I have religious principles or family sentiments, or because I have no courage?  I do not know.  The reason is, perhaps, that from a distance you held me to life.  I was attracted by you, since I am here.  For two days I have been watching you.  I did not wish to reappear at your house.  I should not have found you alone; I should not have been able to talk to you.  And then you would have been forced to receive me.  I thought it better to speak to you in the street.  The idea came to me on the boat.  I said to myself:  ’In the street she will listen to me only if she wishes, as she wished four years ago in the park of Joinville, you know, under the statues, near the crown.’”

He continued, with a sigh: 

“Yes, as at Joinville, since all is to be begun again.  For two days I have been watching you.  Yesterday it was raining; you went out in a carriage.  I might have followed you and learned where you were going if I wished to do it.  I did not do it.  I do not wish to do what would displease you.”