incapable of allowing himself to be unhappy for long.
"You will write to-day?" he said.
"Directly. Now; at once. I will go and do so. I do not care for any coffee this morning; I am too nervous."
He rose and left the room.
Then Jean turned to his mother:
"And you, mother, what are you going to do?"
"Nothing. I do not know."
"Will you come with me to call on Mme. Rosémilly?"
"Why, yes—yes."
"You know I must positively go to see her to-day."
"Yes, yes. To be sure."
"Why must you positively?" asked Roland, whose habit it was never to understand what was said in his presence.
"Because I promised her I would."
"Oh, very well. That alters the case." And he began to fill his pipe, while the mother and son went upstairs to make ready.
When they were in the street Jean said:
"Will you take my arm, mother?"
He was never accustomed to offer it, for they
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