They kissed like a despairing brother and sister who have been smitten with a common loss and who meet to mourn a dead parent.
Suddenly, she snatched herself from the young man's soft and timid embrace, seemed to listen to something, and, with a quick gesture, pointed to the door.

When he was on the threshold, she said, in so low a voice that the viscount guessed rather than heard her words: "To-morrow, my dear betrothed! And be happy, Raoul: I sang for you to-night!" He returned the next day.

But those two days of absence had broken the charm of their delightful make-believe.

They looked at each other, in the dressing-room, with their sad eyes, without exchanging a word.
Raoul had to restrain himself not to cry out: "I am jealous! I am jealous! I am jealous!" But she heard him all the same.

Then she said: "Come for a walk, dear.