"Whom? Mazelli?"
"Yes."
She looked at him with such a pained expression in her eyes that he felt thrown off his balance, and stammered, in a supplicating voice: "What?—you don't love—anyone?"
She replied, with a downward glance: "I don't know—I love people who love me."
He seized the young girl's two hands, all at once, and kissing them wildly in one of those moments of impulse in which the head loses its controlling power, and the words which rise to the lips come from the excited flesh rather than the wandering mind, he faltered:
"I!—I love you, my little Charlotte; yes, I love you!"
She quickly drew away one of her hands, and placed it on his mouth, murmuring: "Be silent!—be silent, I beg of you! It would cause me too much pain if this were another falsehood."
She stood erect; he rose up, caught her in his arms, and embraced her passionately.
A sudden noise parted them; Père Oriol had just come in, and he was gazing at them, quite scared. Then, he cried: "Ah! bougrrre! ah! bougrrre! ah! bougrrre of a savage!"
Charlotte had rushed out, and the two men remained face to face. After some seconds of agitation, Paul made an attempt to explain his position.