He heard the quarter strike, then the half-hour, then the quarter to, and all the clocks repeated “one,” as they had announced midnight. He no longer expected her; he was merely remaining, racking his brain to divine what could have happened. All at once a woman’s head was passed through the window, and asked: “Are you there, Pretty-boy?”
He started, almost choked with emotion, “Is that you, Susan?”
“Yes, it is I.”
He could not manage to turn the handle quickly enough, and repeated: “Ah! it is you, it is you; come inside.”
She came in and fell against him. He said, “Go on,” to the driver, and the cab started.
She gasped, without saying a word.
He asked: “Well, how did it go off?”
She murmured, almost fainting: “Oh! it was terrible, above all with mamma.”
He was uneasy and quivering. “Your mamma. What did she say? Tell me.”
“Oh! it was awful. I went into her room and told her my little story that I had carefully prepared. She grew pale, and then she cried: ‘Never, never.’ I cried, I grew angry. I vowed I would marry no one but you. I thought that she was going to strike me. She went on just as if she were mad; she declared that I should be sent back to the convent the next day. I had never seen her like that—never. Then papa came in, hearing her shouting all her nonsense. He was not so angry as she was, but he declared that you were not a good enough match. As they had put me in a rage, too, I shouted louder than they did. And papa told me to leave the room, with