“Something—important—serious. Oh, no! Besides, you will not go; it is impossible. If you should—listen to me. Then you have not understood me; you have not guessed—”
“Yet you speak plainly,” said Emma.
“Ah! you can jest. Enough! enough! Oh, for pity’s sake, let me see you once—only once!”
“Well—” She stopped; then, as if thinking better of it, “Oh, not here!”
“Where you will.”
“Will you—” She seemed to reflect; then abruptly, “To-morrow at eleven o’clock in the cathedral.”
“I shall be there,” he cried, seizing her hands, which she disengaged.
And as they were both standing up, he behind her, and Emma with her head bent, he stooped over her and pressed long kisses on her neck.
“You are mad! Ah! you are mad!” she said, with sounding little laughs, while the kisses multiplied.
Then bending his head over her shoulder, he seemed to beg the consent of her eyes. They fell upon him full of an icy dignity.