And afterwards she rose and walked away without adding a single word.
Guillaume remained alone on the bench in that leafy corner, in front of Paris, to which the light morning sunshine lent the aspect of some quivering, soaring city of dreamland.

A great weight oppressed him, and it seemed to him as if he would never be able to rise from the seat.

That which brought him most suffering was Marie's assurance that she had till that morning been ignorant of the fact that she was in love with Pierre.
She had been ignorant of it, and it was he, Guillaume, who had brought it to her knowledge, compelled her to confess it! He had now firmly planted it in her heart, and perhaps increased it by revealing it to her.

Ah! how cruel the thought--to be the artisan of one's own torment! Of one thing he was now quite certain: there would be no more love in his life.

At the idea of this, his poor, loving heart sank and bled.