In the agitation of her mind, she imagined that she saw herself at a great distance, at the end of the world, and very small; she was climbing a mountain, on the other side of which there was a man awaiting her.

She questioned herself, "Am I, or is this traveller, Mlle.

Moriaz ?" She closed her eyes, and saw a blank abyss open before her, in which her life was ingulfed, whirled about, like the leaf of a tree in a whirlpool.
M.Langis drew near her, and, lightly slapping the palms of her hands, said, "What is the matter ?" She roused herself, made an effort to lift her head, and let it sink again.

The trouble that lay in the depths of her heart choked her; she experienced an irresistible need of confiding in some one, and she judged that the man who was talking to her was one of those men to whom a woman can tell her secret, one of those souls to whom she could pour out her shame without blushing.

She began, in a broken voice, a confused, disconnected recital that Camille could scarcely follow.
However, he finally understood; he felt himself divided between an immense pity for her despair, and a fierce lover's joy that tightened his throat and well-nigh strangled him.
The belfry of Cormeilles had recovered its voice; two o'clock rang out on the air.