My dear, my dear, why should
you have to listen to the matter of _my_ philosophy and _my_ experience
which tells me all creatures forget and are forgotten! No! I wipe out!
You will not vanish--"
The door opened and Alfred entered the room.
"The car is ready," he said. "I have had trouble in getting here."
Fanny turned to him. "I am ready," she said. "It is dreadful to have to
trouble you to take me so late at night to the river."
"No, no--" Alfred, glowing from the exercise in the snowy night outside,
was inclined to be more friendly, or at least less sparing of his words.
"Here are some letters that were at your lodging." He handed three
to Julien.
"When do you dine with me again?" Julien, holding the letters, placed
his hand upon her shoulder.
"I cannot tell what the work will be. Perhaps little, as the snow is
deep."
"It is snowing again outside," said Alfred.
"Then the snow will lie even deeper, and there will be no work."
"Get her back quickly, Alfred, or the snow will lie too deep for you.
I will send you a note, Fanny."
"That is quite easy, is it?"
"Easy. But compromising."
"Oh, surely--not very?"
"In France everything is compromising, mademoiselle," said Alfred. "But
he will find a way to send it."
Julien had urged her to hurry, fearing the snow; now he said, "You are
going?" as though it distressed him.
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