The conversation began with divers unimportant remarks, interspersed with long and frequent pauses, just as, on a journey, we stop at every baiting-place to take breath, to enable us to reach our destination.

“It is a fine day to-day.”

“Oh! yes, beautiful.”

“Our flowers still smell sweet.”

“Oh! very sweet.”

And even as they uttered those trivial sentences, their voices trembled at the thought of what was about to be said.

At last the little low chair moved a little nearer the great easy-chair; their eyes met, their fingers were intertwined, and the two, in low tones, slowly called each other by their names.

“Desiree!”

“Frantz!”

At that moment there was a knock at the door.

It was the soft little tap of a daintily gloved hand which fears to soil itself by the slightest touch.

“Come in!” said Desiree, with a slight gesture of impatience; and Sidonie appeared, lovely, coquettish, and affable.  She had come to see her little Zizi, to embrace her as she was passing by.  She had been meaning to come for so long.

Frantz’s presence seemed to surprise her greatly, and, being engrossed by her delight in talking with her former friend, she hardly looked at him.  After the effusive greetings and caresses, after a pleasant chat over old times, she expressed a wish to see the window on the landing and the room formerly occupied by the Rislers.  It pleased her thus to live all her youth over again.

“Do you remember, Frantz, when the Princess Hummingbird entered your room, holding her little head very straight under a diadem of birds’ feathers?”

Frantz did not reply.  He was too deeply moved to reply.  Something warned him that it was on his account, solely on his account, that the woman had come, that she was determined to see him again, to prevent him from giving himself to another, and the poor wretch realized with dismay that she would not have to exert herself overmuch to accomplish her object.  When he saw her enter the room, his whole heart had been caught in her net once more.

Desiree suspected nothing, not she!  Sidonie’s manner was so frank and friendly.  And then, they were brother and sister now.  Love was no longer possible between them.

But the little cripple had a vague presentiment of woe when Sidonie, standing in the doorway and ready to go, turned carelessly to her brother-in-law and said: 

“By the way, Frantz, Risler told me to be sure to bring you back to dine with us to-night.  The carriage is below.  We will pick him up as we pass the factory.”

Then she added, with the prettiest smile imaginable: 

“You will let us have him, won’t you, Ziree?  Don’t be afraid; we will send him back.”

And he had the courage to go, the ungrateful wretch!

He went without hesitation, without once turning back, whirled away by his passion as by a raging sea, and neither on that day nor the next nor ever after could Mam’zelle Zizi’s great easy-chair learn what the interesting communication was that the little low chair had to make to it.