Fearing that they might be overheard and in order to keep him at a
distance, she had been speaking as though to a friend. But her lover's
sadness broke down her reserve.
"No, I love you. . . . I shall always love you."
The simplicity with which she said this and her sudden tenderness of
tone revived Desnoyers' hopes.
"And the other one?" he asked anxiously.
Upon receiving her reply, it seemed to him as though something had just
passed across the sun, veiling its light temporarily. It was as though
a cloud had drifted over the land and over his thoughts, enveloping them
in an unbearable chill.
"I love him, too."
She said it with a look that seemed to implore pardon, with the sad
sincerity of one who has given up lying and weeps in foreseeing the
injury that the truth must inflict.
He felt his hard wrath suddenly dwindling like a crumbling mountain. Ah,
Marguerite! His voice was tremulous and despairing. Could it be possible
that everything between these two was going to end thus simply? Were her
former vows mere lies? . . . They had been attracted to each other by an
irresistible affinity in order to be together forever, to be one. . . .
And now, suddenly hardened by indifference, were they to drift apart
like two unfriendly bodies? . . . What did this absurdity about loving
him at the same time that she loved her former husband mean, anyway?
Marguerite hung her head, murmuring desperately:
"You are a man, I am a woman.
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