“Go, old friend. She must not be anxious one moment too long—”
That evening at four o’clock, returning from the daily walk he took on purpose to pass Ursule’s house, Savinien found his mistress somewhat pale from such sudden upsets.
“It seems to me I have never known till now what pleasure it is to see you,” she said to him.
“You once said to me,” replied Savinien, smiling, “for I remember all your words, that ‘Love does not thrive without patience, I will wait!’ Then, dear child, have you divided love from faith? Ah! this is the end of all our quarrels. You declared you loved me better than I love you. Have I ever doubted you?” he asked, offering her a nosegay of wild flowers so arranged as to convey his thoughts.
“You have no reason to doubt me,” she replied, “and besides, you do not know all,” she added in a troubled voice.
She had refused all letters from the post But, without her being able to guess by what witchcraft the thing had happened, a few moments after the departure of Savinien, whom she had watched turning from the Rue des Bourgeois into the Grand’Rue, she had found a paper on her armchair on which was written: “Tremble! the despised lover will be worse than a tiger.” In spite of Savinien’s entreaties she refused, through caution, to confide the terrible secret of her fear to him. It was only the unspeakable pleasure of seeing Savinien again after having thought she had lost him that could make her forget the deadly
