"You've said nothing, of course, and I ask nothing," he was

saying; "but you know that friendship's not what I want: that

there's only one happiness in life for me, that word that you

dislike so...yes, love!..."

"Love," she repeated slowly, in an inner voice, and suddenly, at

the very instant she unhooked the lace, she added, "Why I don't

like the word is that it means too much to me, far more than you

can understand," and she glanced into his face. "_Au revoir!_"

She gave him her hand, and with her rapid, springy step she

passed by the porter and vanished into the carriage.

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Her glance, the touch of her hand, set him aflame. He kissed the

palm of his hand where she had touched it, and went home, happy

in the sense that he had got nearer to the attainment of his aims

that evening than during the last two months.




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