“Inspired? Yes, I was inspired!”
She seized his wrists, and looking deep into his eyes she murmured very low:
“Confess to me that you love her!”
He withdrew his hands, unable to control his impatience any longer.
“But you are simply insane with that idea!”
She seized him again by the arm and, tightening her hold on his sleeve, she implored:
“Olivier! Confess, confess! I would rather know. I am certain of it, but I would rather know. I would rather—Oh, you do not comprehend what my life has become!”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“What would you have me do? Is it my fault if you lose your head?”
She held him, drawing him toward the other salon at the back, where they could not be heard. She drew him by his coat, clinging to him and panting. When she had led him as far as the little circular divan, she made him let himself fall upon it; then she sat down beside him.