At regular intervals he answered, “Yes⁠—Yes⁠—” She had passed her hands through his hair, and she repeated in a childlike voice, despite the big tears which were falling, “Rodolphe! Rodolphe! Ah! Rodolphe! dear little Rodolphe!”

Midnight struck.

“Midnight!” said she. “Come, it is tomorrow. One day more!”

He rose to go; and as if the movement he made had been the signal for their flight, Emma said, suddenly assuming a gay air⁠—

“You have the passports?”

“Yes.”

“You are forgetting nothing?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”