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, Henry, 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 soon 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, Henry." 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.
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