He was silent. The whole of the fish, to whom bread was no longer being thrown, were motionless, drawn up in line like English soldiers, and looking at the bent heads of those two who were no longer troubling themselves about them. The young girl murmured, half sadly, half gayly: “It is a pity that you are married. What would you? Nothing can be done. It is settled.”

He turned suddenly towards her, and said right in her face: “If I were free, would you marry me?”

She replied, in a tone of sincerity: “Yes, Pretty-boy, I would marry you, for you please me far better than any of the others.”

He rose, and stammered: “Thanks, thanks; do not say ‘yes’ to anyone yet, I beg of you; wait a little longer, I entreat you. Will you promise me this much?”

She murmured, somewhat uneasily, and without understanding what he wanted: “Yes, I promise you.”

Du Roy threw the lump of bread he still held in his hand into the water, and fled as though he had lost his head, without wishing her goodbye. All the fish rushed eagerly at this lump of crumb, which floated, not having been kneaded in the fingers, and nibbled it with greedy mouths. They dragged it away to the other end of the basin, and forming a moving cluster, a kind of animated and twisting flower, a live flower fallen into the water head downwards.

Susan, surprised and uneasy, got up and returned slowly to the dining-room. The journalist had left.

He came home very calm, and as Madeleine was writing letters, said to her: “Are you going to dine at the Walters’ on Friday? I am going.”

She hesitated, and replied: “No. I do not feel very well. I would rather stay at home.”