"Compromising, do you call it? It appears to me, on the contrary, to be the most natural way possible."
"No; not for me, mon ami."
"You are very obstinate, Geneviève."
"Allow me to tell you it is the first time, at least, that you have discovered it."
Dixmer, who for some time had been crushing his handkerchief between his hands, now wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Yes," said he; "and it is this that increases my astonishment."
"Good Heaven!" said Geneviève, "is it possible, Dixmer, that you do not divine the cause of my resistance, and that you wish to force me to speak?"
And overcome with contending emotions, her head sunk upon her breast, and her arms fell listlessly by her sides. Dixmer appeared to make a strenuous effort to command himself, took Geneviève's hand, compelled her to raise her head, looked into her eyes, and began to laugh; but in a manner so forced and unnatural, that had Geneviève been less agitated at the moment, it must have been evident even to her.
"I see how it is," said he; "you are in the right, and I was blind. With all your wit and distinction, my dear Geneviève, you have fallen into a vulgar notion,—you have been fearful that Maurice might fall in love with you."
Geneviève felt as if an icy chill had penetrated to her heart. This irony on the part of her husband, relative to Maurice's affection for her,—that love of which, from the knowledge she possessed of the character of the young man, she could estimate all the violence, and in which, though only acknowledged with deep remorse, she participated in the depths of her heart,—this irony petrified her. She felt it was utterly impossible to reply.