“No matter where; in a cab, for instance. You can draw down the blind on your side, and you will be quite invisible.”
“Yes, I prefer that; here I am dying with fear.”
“Well, come and meet me in five minutes at the gate opening onto the outer boulevard. I will have a cab.”
And he darted off.
As soon as she had rejoined him, and had carefully drawn down the blind on her side, she asked: “Where have you told the driver to take us?”
George replied: “Do not trouble yourself, he knows what to do.”
He had given the man his address in the Rue de Constantinople.
She resumed: “You cannot imagine what I suffer on account of you, how I am tortured and tormented. Yesterday, in the church, I was cruel, but I wanted to flee from you at any cost. I was so afraid to find myself alone with you. Have you forgiven me?”
He squeezed her hands: “Yes, yes, what would I not forgive you, loving you as I do?”
She looked at him with a supplicating air: “Listen, you must promise to respect me—not to—not to—otherwise I cannot see you again.”
He did not reply at once; he wore under his moustache that keen smile that disturbed women. He ended by murmuring: “I am your slave.”
Then she began to tell him how she had perceived that she was in love with him on learning that he was going to marry Madeleine Forestier. She gave details, little details of dates and the like. Suddenly she paused. The cab had stopped. Du Roy opened the door.
“Where are we?” she asked.