She laughed in her turn, and half hiding her face behind her fan she replied:
“So little—and so badly.”
“But quite enough.”
She imitated the little plaintive voice of children caught in the act.
“I won’t do it again.”
He looked long at her. He noticed the quivering movement of her eyelids, the yearning of her whole body for him. Why should he resist any longer the appeal of pleasure when it came to him in such lovely guise?
“Isabelle,” he whispered softly.
She gazed at him in her turn and radiantly slipped her soft hand into his.
“Jean, dear Jean,” she cried. For an instant they both had a foretaste of happiness. Then the bell rang to announce the next act. Full of their joy, they slowly returned to the hall of the theatre, without speaking. At the head of the marble staircase they stopped to take breath. Upon the balcony they stood alone above the gay crowd of spectators hurrying back, but they did not see them.
“Do you know, Jean, you made me tremble. I thought it was true what they told me.”