Suddenly, she snatched herself from the young man’s soft and timid embrace, seemed to listen to something, and, with a quick gesture, pointed to the door. When he was on the threshold, she said, in so low a voice that the viscount guessed rather than heard her words:

“Tomorrow, my dear betrothed! And be happy, Raoul: I sang for you tonight!”

He returned the next day. But those two days of absence had broken the charm of their delightful make-believe. They looked at each other, in the dressing-room, with their sad eyes, without exchanging a word. Raoul had to restrain himself not to cry out:

“I am jealous! I am jealous! I am jealous!”

But she heard him all the same. Then she said:

“Come for a walk, dear. The air will do you good.”