"I pray you," said she, in an altered tone, "to speak no more; to speak no more!"
"And why?"
"Because your voice makes me ill."
"You are displeased with everything about me, even my voice?"
"Be silent, I conjure you."
"I will obey you, Madame," and the impetuous young man passed his hand over his face, damp with perspiration.
Geneviève saw that he really suffered. People of Maurice's temperament have griefs of their own, little known or understood by the generality of mankind.
"You are my friend, Maurice, a precious friend," said Geneviève, looking at him kindly; "do not deprive me of your valuable friendship."
"Oh, you would not long regret it," said Maurice.