“I see that I have been cruel and unjust to you,” said Micheline.  “I deserve your reproaches, but I am not the only one to blame.  You, too, are at fault.  What I have just heard has upset me.  I am truly sorry to cause you so much pain; but it is too late.  I no longer belong to myself.”

“And did you belong to yourself?”

“No!  It is true, you had my word, but be generous.  Do not abuse the authority which being my betrothed gives you.  That promise I would now ask back from you.”

“And if I refuse to release you from your promise?  If I tried to, regain your love?” cried Pierre, forcibly.  “Have I not the right to defend myself?  And what would you think of my love if I relinquished you so readily?”

There was a moment’s silence.  The interview was at its highest pitch of excitement.  Micheline knew that she must put an end to it.  She replied with firmness: 

“A girl such as I am will not break her word; mine belongs to you, but my heart is another’s.  Say you insist, and I am ready to keep my promise to become your wife.  It is for you to decide.”

Pierre gave the young girl a look which plunged into the depths of her heart.  He read there her resolve that she would act loyally, but that at the same time she would never forget him who had so irresistibly gained her heart.  He made a last effort.

“Listen,” he said, with ardent voice, “it is impossible that you can have forgotten me so soon:  I love you so much!  Remember our affection in the old days, Micheline.  Remember!”

He no longer argued; he pleaded.  Micheline felt victorious.  She was moved with pity.

“Alas! my poor Pierre, my affection was only friendship, and my heart has not changed toward you.  The love which I now feel is quite different.  If it had not come to me, I might have been your wife.  And I esteemed you so much, that I should have been happy.  But now I understand the difference.  You, whom I had accepted, would never have been more to me than a tender companion; he whom I have chosen will be my master.”

Pierre uttered a cry at this cruel and frank avowal.

“Ah! how you hurt me!”

And bitter tears rolled down his face to the relief of his overburdened heart.  He sank on to a seat, and for a moment gave way to violent grief.  Micheline, more touched by his despair than she had been by his reproaches, went to him and wiped his face with her lace handkerchief.  Her white hand was close to the young man’s mouth,—­and he kissed it eagerly.  Then, as if roused by the action, he rose with a changed look in his eyes, and seized the young girl in his arms.  Micheline did not utter a word.  She looked coldly and resolutely at Pierre, and threw back her head to avoid the contact of his eager lips.  That look was enough.  The arms which held her were unloosed, and Pierre moved away, murmuring: 

“I beg your pardon.  You see I am not in my right mind.”