He replied; "I know very well that I am mad. Ought I to have admitted
that--I, a married man, to you, a young girl? I am more than mad, I am
guilty. I have no possible hope, and the thought of that drives me out
of my senses. And when I hear it said that you are going to be married,
I have fits of rage enough to kill someone. You must forgive me this,
Susan."
He was silent. The whole of the fish, to whom bread was no longer being
thrown, were motionless, drawn up in line like English soldiers, and
looking at the bent heads of those two who were no longer troubling
themselves about them. The young girl murmured, half sadly, half gayly:
"It is a pity that you are married. What would you? Nothing can be done.
It is settled."
He turned suddenly towards her, and said right in her face: "If I were
free, would you marry me?"
She replied, in a tone of sincerity: "Yes, Pretty-boy, I would marry
you, for you please me far better than any of the others."
He rose, and stammered: "Thanks, thanks; do not say 'yes' to anyone yet,
I beg of you; wait a little longer, I entreat you. Will you promise me
this much?"
She murmured, somewhat uneasily, and without understanding what he
wanted: "Yes, I promise you."
Du Roy threw the lump of bread he still held in his hand into the water,
and fled as though he had lost his head, without wishing her good-bye.
All the fish rushed eagerly at this lump of crumb, which floated, not
having been kneaded in the fingers, and nibbled it with greedy mouths.
They dragged it away to the other end of the basin, and forming a moving
cluster, a kind of animated and twisting flower, a live flower fallen
into the water head downwards.
Susan, surprised and uneasy, got up and returned slowly to the
dining-room. The journalist had left.
He came home very calm, and as Madeleine was writing letters, said to
her: "Are you going to dine at the Walters' on Friday? I am going."
She hesitated, and replied: "No. I do not feel very well. I would rather
stay at home."