the memory of the unfortunate who has lost you. Teach my name to your child; let her repeat it in her
The wicks of the candles flickered. Rodolphe got up to, shut the window, and when he had sat down again—
“I think it’s all right. Ah! and this for fear she should come and hunt me up.”
“I shall be far away when you read these sad lines, for I have wished to flee as quickly as possible to shun the temptation of seeing you again. No weakness! I shall return, and perhaps later on we shall talk together very coldly of our old love. Adieu!”
And there was a last “adieu” divided into two words! “A Dieu!” which he thought in very excellent taste.
“Now how am I to sign?” he said to himself. “ ‘Yours devotedly?’ No! ‘Your friend?’ Yes, that’s it.”
“Your friend.”
He reread his letter. He considered it very good.
“Poor little woman!” he thought with emotion. “She’ll think me harder than a rock. There ought to have been some tears on this; but I can’t cry; it isn’t my fault.” Then, having emptied some water into a glass, Rodolphe dipped his finger into it, and let a big drop fall on the paper, that made a pale stain on the ink. Then looking for a seal, he came upon the one “ Amor nel cor .”
“That doesn’t at all fit in with the circumstances. Pshaw! never mind!”
After which he smoked three pipes and went to bed.