“Do you think so?  Well, since you take it in this way, we will go in; I demand it.”

A stupid proposition, when made by two people who are forcing themselves to say something utterly different from what they think.

Then she compelled me to take the path that led back to the chateau.  I do not know, at least I did not then know, whether this course was one which she forced upon herself, whether it was the result of a vigorous resolution, or whether she shared my disappointment in seeing an incident which had begun so well thus suddenly brought to a close but by a mutual instinct our steps slackened and we pursued our way gloomily dissatisfied the one with the other and with ourselves.  We knew not the why and the wherefore of what we were doing.  Neither of us had the right to demand or even to ask anything.  We had neither of us any ground for uttering a reproach.  O that we had got up a quarrel!  But how could I pick one with her?  Meanwhile we drew nearer and nearer, thinking how we might evade the duty which we had so awkwardly imposed upon ourselves.  We reached the door, when Madame de T----- said to me: 

“I am angry with you!  After the confidences I have given you, not to give me a single one!  You have not said a word about the countess.  And yet it is so delightful to speak of the one we love!  I should have listened with such interest!  It was the very best I could do after I had taken you away from her!”

“Cannot I reproach you with the same thing?” I said, interrupting her, “and if instead of making me a witness to this singular reconciliation in which I play so odd a part, you had spoken to me of the marquis—­”

“Stop,” she said, “little as you know of women, you are aware that their confidences must be waited for, not asked.  But to return to yourself.  Are you very happy with my friend?  Ah!  I fear the contrary—­”

“Why, madame, should everything that the public amuses itself by saying claim our belief?”

“You need not dissemble.  The countess makes less a mystery of things than you do.  Women of her stamp do not keep the secrets of their loves and of their lovers, especially when you are prompted by discretion to conceal her triumph.  I am far from accusing her of coquetry; but a prude has as much vanity as a coquette.—­Come, tell me frankly, have you not cause of complaint against her?”

“But, madame, the air is really too icy for us to stay here.  Would you like to go in?” said I with a smile.

“Do you find it so?—­That is singular.  The air is quite warm.”

She had taken my arm again, and we continued to walk, although I did not know the direction which we took.  All that she had hinted at concerning the lover of the countess, concerning my mistress, together with this journey, the incident which took place in the carriage, our conversation on the grassy bank, the time of night, the moonlight—­all made me feel anxious.  I was at the same time carried along by vanity, by desire, and so distracted by thought, that I was too excited perhaps to take notice of all that I was experiencing.  And, while I was overwhelmed with these mingled feelings, she continued talking to me of the countess, and my silence confirmed the truth of all that she chose to say about her.  Nevertheless, certain passages in her talk recalled me to myself.