Again he confessed: "Ah, yes! I love her!"
She reflected a few moments, then continued: "You never have loved me thus?"
He did not deny it, for he was passing through one of those periods in which one speaks with absolute truth, and he murmured:
"No, I was too young then."
She was surprised.
"Too young? Why?"
"Because life was too sweet. It is only at our age that one loves despairingly."
"Does the love you feel for her resemble that which you felt for me?"
the Countess asked.
"Yes and no--and yet it is almost the same thing. I have loved you as much as anyone can love a woman. As for her, I love her just as I loved you, since she is yourself; but this love has become something irresistible, destroying, stronger than death. I belong to it as a burning house belongs to the fire."
She felt her sympathy wither up under a breath of jealousy; but, assuming a consoling tone, she said:
"My poor friend! In a few days she will be married and gone. When you see her no more no doubt you will be cured of this fancy."
He shook his head.
"Oh, I am lost, lost, lost!"
"No, no, I say! It will be three months before you see her again. That will be sufficient. Three months were quite enough for you to love her more than you love me, whom you have known for twelve years!"
Then, in his infinite distress, he implored: "Any, do not abandon me!"
"What can I do, my friend?"
"Do not leave me alone."
"I will go to see you as often as you wish."
"No. Keep me here as much as possible."
"But then you would be near her."
"And near you!"
"You must not see her any more before her marriage."
"Oh, Any!"
"Well, at least, not often."
"May I stay here this evening?"
"No, not in your present condition. You must divert your mind; go to the club, or the theater--no matter where, but do not stay here."
"I entreat you--"
"No, Olivier, it is impossible. And, besides, I have guests coming to dinner whose presence would agitate you still more."
"The Duchess and--he!"
"Yes."
"But I spent last evening with them."
"And you speak of it! You are in a fine state to-day."
"I promise you to be calm."
"No, it is impossible."
"Then I am going away."
"Why do you hurry now?"
"I must walk."
"That is right! Walk a great deal, walk until evening, kill yourself with fatigue and then go to bed."
He had risen.
"Good-by, Any!"
"Good-by, dear friend. I will come to see you to-morrow morning. Would you like me to do something very imprudent, as I used to do--pretend to breakfast here at noon, and then go and have breakfast with you at a quarter past one?"
"Yes, I should like it very much. You are so good!"
"It is because I love you."
"And I love you, too."
"Oh, don't speak of that any more!"
"Good-by, Any."
"Good-by, dear friend, till to-morrow."
"Good-by!"
He kissed her hands many times, then he kissed her brow, then the corner of her lips. His eyes were dry now, his bearing resolute. Just as he was about to go, he seized her, clasped her close in both arms, and pressing his lips to her forehead, he seemed to drink in, to inhale from her all the love she had for him.
Then he departed quickly, without turning toward her again.