He clasped her closely to him, pressing her to his heart, which beat with horrible violence.
"No, no, it is nothing," stammered Hippolyte, who had all at once understood his terror, and who had grown pale. "It is nothing. My head is giddy. The sun has made me dizzy. It is nothing."
Her lips were almost white, and she avoided looking her lover in the eyes. He could not yet succeed in dominating his anguish, and poignantly regretted having awakened in her the fearful and shameful preoccupation. His memory recalled this passage in a letter: "What if the malady should seize me while in your arms? No, no, I will never see you again; I do not wish to see you any more!"
She said, in a feeble voice:
"It's over. I'm better. But I'm thirsty. Where can I get a drink?"
"Over there, near the church, where the tents are," said George.
She refused vigorously, with a motion of her head.
"I will go. Wait for me here!"
She was obstinate in her refusal.
"Let us send Colas. He must be near by; I'll call him."