She stammered: "After what you promised me—it is too bad—too bad."
He seemed to make a great effort, then he continued in a subdued voice: "See, how I can control myself—and yet—let me only tell you this—I love you—yes, let me go home with you and kneel before you five minutes to utter those three words and gaze upon your beloved face."
She suffered him to take her hand and replied in broken accents: "No, I cannot—I do not wish to. Think of what my servants, my daughters, would say—no—no—it is impossible."
He continued: "I cannot live without seeing you; whether it be at your house or elsewhere, I must see you for only a moment each day that I may touch your hand, breathe the air stirred by your gown, contemplate the outlines of your form, and see your beautiful eyes."
She listened tremblingly to the musical language of love, and made answer: "No, it is impossible. Be silent!"
He spoke very low; he whispered in her ear, comprehending that it was necessary to win that simple woman gradually, to persuade her to appoint a meeting where she willed at first, and later on where he willed.
"Listen: I must see you! I will wait at your door like a beggar. If you do not come down, I will come to you, but I shall see you to-morrow."
She repeated: "No, do not come. I shall not receive you. Think of my daughters!"
"Then tell me where I can meet you—in the street—it matters not where—at any hour you wish—provided that I can see you. I will greet you; I will say, I love you; and then go away."
She hesitated, almost distracted. As the coupe stopped at the door, she whispered hastily: "I will be at La Trinite to-morrow, at half past three."