The body was too much weakened by the attack of fever, and even by
the process of its cure, to permit him any violent emotions, and the
universal joy of spring which wrapped him round carried his thoughts
instinctively to images of joy. He had always obstinately refused to
tell his family of the danger which he had been in, and when he was well
again his father did not even know that he had been ill.

One evening we had sat at the window later than usual; the weather had
been superb, and the sun sank to sleep in a twilight dazzling with gold
and azure. Though we were in Paris, the verdure which surrounded us
seemed to shut us off from the world, and our conversation was only now
and again disturbed by the sound of a passing vehicle.

"It was about this time of the year, on the evening of a day like this,
that I first met Marguerite," said Armand to me, as if he were listening
to his own thoughts rather than to what I was saying. I did not answer.
Then turning toward me, he said: "I must tell you the whole story; you will make a book out of it; no one
will believe it, but it will perhaps be interesting to do."

"You will tell me all about it later on, my friend," I said to him; "you
are not strong enough yet."