When I counted over the money I received he said:
"If you don't lend me a thousand francs, I am faced with complete ruin. Your money is the only resource left to me."
I gave him the money, and he at once revived and began laughing about his uncle, a queer fish, who could never keep his address secret from his wife. When I reached the hotel I packed and paid my bill. I had still to say good-bye to Ariadne.
I knocked at the door.
"Entrez!"
In her room was the usual morning disorder: tea-things on the table, an unfinished roll, an eggshell; a strong overpowering reek of scent. The bed had not been made, and it was evident that two had slept in it.
Ariadne herself had only just got out of bed and was now with her hair down in a flannel dressing-jacket.
I said good-morning to her, and then sat in silence for a minute while she tried to put her hair tidy, and then I asked her, trembling all over:
"Why . . . why . . . did you send for me here?"
Evidently she guessed what I was thinking; she took me by the hand and said:
"I want you to be here, you are so pure."
I felt ashamed of my emotion, of my trembling.
