At this point Armand stopped.

"Would you close the window for me?" he said. "I am beginning to feel
cold. Meanwhile, I will get into bed."

I closed the window. Armand, who was still very weak, took off his
dressing-gown and lay down in bed, resting his head for a few moments
on the pillow, like a man who is tired by much talking or disturbed by
painful memories.

"Perhaps you have been talking too much," I said to him. "Would you
rather for me to go and leave you to sleep? You can tell me the rest of
the story another day."

"Are you tired of listening to it?"

"Quite the contrary."

"Then I will go on. If you left me alone, I should not sleep."

When I returned home (he continued, without needing to pause and
recollect himself, so fresh were all the details in his mind), I did not
go to bed, but began to reflect over the day's adventure. The meeting,
the introduction, the promise of Marguerite, had followed one another so
rapidly, and so unexpectedly, that there were moments when it seemed to
me I had been dreaming. Nevertheless, it was not the first time that a
girl like Marguerite had promised herself to a man on the morrow of the
day on which he had asked for the promise.