"Sir, you wrong me much."
"The crime of ingratitude is wanting in me; is it not so, Madame?"
"Come, I beseech you, sir—my friend, do not leave me thus. What do you wish to know? What do you ask?"
"Payment—is it not so?" said the young man, bitterly.
"No," said the unknown, with a bewitching expression; "but forgive me the secrecy I am obliged to preserve toward you."
Maurice, seeing in the obscurity those beautiful eyes wet with tears, feeling the pressure of that soft hand reposing between his own, hearing the accents of that persuasive voice, which had almost descended to the depths of prayer, felt his anger all at once yield to admiration.
"What do I ask?" said he. "To see you again."
"Impossible! utterly impossible."
"If only for once—one hour, a minute, a second."
"I tell you it is impossible."