She said again: "No; and if you won't go out with me, I shall go. Good-bye."
She had freed herself with a jerk, and gained the door. He ran towards her, and clasped her in his arms, crying:
"Listen, Clo, my little Clo; listen, grant me this much."
She shook her head without replying, avoiding his kisses, and striving to escape from his grasp and go.
He stammered: "Clo, my little Clo, I have a reason."
She stopped, and looking him full in the face, said: "You are lying. What is it?"
He blushed not knowing what to say, and she went on in an indignant tone: "You see very well that you are lying, you low brute." And with an angry gesture and tears in her eyes, she escaped him.
He again caught her by the shoulders, and, in despair, ready to acknowledge anything in order to avoid a rupture, he said, in a despairing tone: "I have not a son. That's what it all means." She stopped short, and looking into his eyes to read the truth in them, said: "You say?"
He had flushed to the roots of his hair. "I say that I have not a sou. Do you understand? Not twenty sous, not ten, not enough to pay for a glass of cassis in the café we may go into. You force me to confess what I am ashamed of. It was, however, impossible for me to go out with you, and when we were seated with refreshments in front of us to tell you quietly that I could not pay for them."
She was still looking him in the face. "It is true, then?"