“Our souls might have understood each other,” she said in a grave voice. “But I have no right to exact your confidence. You will never know the extent of your obligations to me; I shall not explain them.”
They walked a few steps in silence.
“My life does interest you,” said the young man.
“Monsieur, I implore you, tell me your name or else be silent. You are a child,” she added, with an impatient movement of her shoulders, “and I feel a pity for you.”
The obstinacy with which she insisted on knowing his name made the pretended sailor hesitate between prudence and love. The vexation of a desired woman is powerfully attractive; her anger, like her submission, is imperious; many are the fibres she touches in a man’s heart, penetrating and subjugating it. Was this scene only another aspect of Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s coquetry? In spite of his sudden passion the unnamed lover had the strength to distrust a woman thus bent on forcing from him a secret of life and death.
“Why has my rash indiscretion, which sought to give a future to our present meeting, destroyed the happiness of it?” he said, taking her hand, which she left in his unconsciously.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who seemed to be in real distress, was silent.
“How have I displeased you?” he said. “What can I do to soothe you?”
“Tell me your name.”
He made no reply, and they walked some distance in silence. Suddenly Mademoiselle de Verneuil stopped short, like one who has come to some serious determination.