"I would obey," said he; "but would you have the courage to order it?"

"I allow you to remain until just half past twelve," said she, as she
glanced at the clock, which she could see through the half-open door.
Gerfaut followed her glance, and saw that she accorded him only a quarter
of an hour: but he was too clever to make any observation. He knew that
the second quarter of an hour is always less difficult to obtain than the
first.

"I am sure," said she, "that you have thought me capricious to-day; you
must pardon me, it is a family fault. You know the saying: 'Caprice de
Corandeuil?"

"I wish it to be said: Amour de Gerfaut," said he, tenderly.

"You are right to be amiable and say pleasant things to me, for I need
them badly to-night. I am sad and weary; the darkest visions come before
my mind. I think it is the storm which makes me feel so. How doleful
this thunder is! It seems to me like an omen of misfortune."

"It is only the fancy of your vivid imagination. If you exerted the same
will to be happy that you do to imagine troubles, our life would be
perfect. What matters the storm? and even if you do see an omen in it,
what is there so very terrible? Clouds are vapor, thunder is a sound,
both are equally ephemeral; only the blue sky, which they can obscure but
for a moment, is eternal."

"Did you not hear something just now?" asked Madame de Bergenheim, as
she gave a sudden start and listened eagerly.