Chapter 12

A MEETING AND THE RESULT

The July sun shone upon the Place de la Trinite, which was almost
deserted. Du Roy drew out his watch. It was only three o'clock: he
was half an hour too early. He laughed as he thought of the place of
meeting. He entered the sacred edifice of La Trinite; the coolness
within was refreshing. Here and there an old woman kneeled at
prayer, her face in her hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. It
was not yet a quarter past three. He took a seat, regretting that he
could not smoke. At the end of the church near the choir; he could
hear the measured tread of a corpulent man whom he had noticed when
he entered. Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It was
she. He arose and advanced quickly. She did not offer him her hand
and whispered: "I have only a few minutes. You must kneel near me
that no one will notice us."

She proceeded to a side aisle after saluting the Host on the High
Altar, took a footstool, and kneeled down. Georges took one beside
it and when they were in the attitude of prayer, he said: "Thank
you, thank you. I adore you. I should like to tell you constantly
how I began to love you, how I was conquered the first time I saw
you. Will you permit me some day to unburden my heart, to explain
all to you?"

She replied between her fingers: "I am mad to let you speak to me
thus--mad to have come hither--mad to do as I have done, to let you
believe that this--this adventure can have any results. Forget it,
and never speak to me of it again." She paused.

He replied: "I expect nothing--I hope nothing--I love you--whatever
you may do, I will repeat it so often, with so much force and ardor
that you will finally understand me, and reply: 'I love you too.'"

He felt her frame tremble as she involuntarily repeated: "I love you
too."

He was overcome by astonishment.

"Oh, my God!" she continued incoherently, "Should I say that to you?
I feel guilty, despicable--I--who have two daughters--but I cannot--
cannot--I never thought--it was stronger than I--listen--listen--I
have never loved--any other--but you--I swear it--I have loved you a
year in secret--I have suffered and struggled--I can no longer; I
love you." She wept and her bowed form was shaken by the violence of
her emotion.

Georges murmured: "Give me your hand that I may touch, may press
it."

She slowly took her hand from her face, he seized it saying: "I
should like to drink your tears!"

Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: "Do you feel it
beat?"

In a few moments the man Georges had noticed before passed by them.
When Mme. Walter