"I must."
"Yes, you must, you must. Where is your leather coat? Here--"
He found it.
"Stay! I must read this before you go. It is my demobilisation paper
with the final date. I will look--"
"Are you coming?" called Alfred, from the end of the passage. "It is
snowing wildly."
"There is some mistake," muttered Julien, his eye searching the large
unfolded document.
"When, when--?" Fanny, hanging on his words, watched him.
"One moment. It is a mistake. Alfred! Alfred, here, a minute!"
"Look," he said, when Alfred had re-entered the room. He handed the
paper to him, and drew him under the light. "See, they say--ah, wait,
did I register at Charleville or Paris?"
"At Charleville. As an agriculturist. I remember well."
"Then there is no mistake." He folded up the paper, pinching the edges
of the folds slowly with his thumb and finger nail.
"Fanny, it has come sooner than I expected."
She could say nothing, but fastened her gaze upon his lips.
"Much, much sooner, and there is no evading it. Alfred, I will bring her
in a minute."
"The snow is coming down," muttered the mahogany god, grown wooden again
under the light, and retreated.
"It is worse for me; it has been done by my own stupidity. But in those
days I didn't know you--"
"Oh, if you are thinking of breaking it to me--only tell me _which_ day!
To-morrow?" She moved up close to him.
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