take an interest in all that interests her and to like everything that she likes! ... If you only knew, Gilberte. ... Listen ... or rather, no, I prefer that she should tell you ..."
"Oh," cried Gilberte, "if they are hopeful words, precious words, why not say them yourself, Guillaume? Will they not be sweeter if I hear them from your lips? Speak, Guillaume ... I want them to be associated in my memory with the sound of your voice ... please, please ..."
She besought him with her gentle, loving smile. He at once said:
"Very well, Gilberte, I will."
He was interrupted by Adèle, bringing in a letter on a tray. Gilberte took the letter and, while the servant was leaving the room, mechanically cast her eyes upon the postmark. A cry escaped her:
"Guillaume!"
Her fingers trembled. She could only whisper:
