“I am ready,” she said; “shall we go?  We are really going?”

She took a light, went to my room, to her own, opened lockers and closets.  She asked for the key to her secretary which she said she had lost.  Where could that key be?  She had it in her possession not an hour ago.

“Come, come!  I am ready,” she repeated in extreme agitation; “let us go, Octave, let us set out at once.”

While speaking she continued her search and then came and sat down near us.

I was seated on the sofa watching Smith, who stood before me.  He had not changed countenance and seemed neither troubled nor surprised; but two drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, and I heard an ivory counter crack between his fingers, the pieces falling to the floor.  He held out both hands to us.

“Bon voyage, my friends!” he said.

Again silence; I was still watching him, waiting for him to add a word.  “If there is some secret here,” thought I, “when shall I learn it, if not now?  It must be on the lips of both of them.  Let it but come out into the light and I will seize it.”

“My dear Octave,” said Brigitte, “where are we to stop?  You will write to us, Henri, will you not?  You will not forget my relatives and will do what you can for me?” He replied in a voice that trembled slightly that he would do all in his power to serve her.

“I can answer for nothing,” he said, “and, judging from the letters you have received, there is not much hope.  But it will not be my fault if I do not send you good news.  Count on me, I am devoted to you.”

After a few more kind words he made ready to take his departure.  I arose and left the room before him; I wished to leave them together a moment for the last time and, as soon as I had closed the door behind me, in a perfect rage of jealousy, I pressed my ear to the keyhole.

“When shall I see you again?” he asked.

“Never,” replied Brigitte; “adieu, Henri.”  She held out her hand.  He bent over it, pressed it to his lips and I had barely time to slip into a corner as he passed out without seeing me.

Alone with Brigitte, my heart sank within me.  She was waiting for me, her shawl on her arm, and emotion plainly marked on her face.  She had found the key she had been looking for and her desk was open.  I returned and sat down near the fire.  “Listen to me,” I said, without daring to look at her; “I have been so culpable in my treatment of you that I ought to wait and suffer without a word of complaint.  The change which has taken place in you has thrown me into such despair that I have not been able to refrain from asking you the cause; but to-day I ask nothing more.  Does it cost you an effort to depart?  Tell me, and if so I am resigned.”

“Let us go, let us go!” she replied.

“As you please, but be frank; whatever blow I may receive, I ought not to ask whence it comes; I should submit without a murmur.  But if I lose you, do not speak to me of hope, for God knows I will not survive the loss.”