Then he stooped, gently removed the thorn, and Marianne, her bosom turned toward him and half-stooping, looked at that man—a minister—almost kneeling before her in this wood.
He cast the bramble away from him.
"There," he said.
"Thanks."
As he rose, he felt Marianne's fresh breath on his forehead. It fell on his face, as sweet as new-mown hay. He became very pale and looked at her with so penetrating an expression that she blushed slightly—from pleasure, perhaps,—and until they reached the carriage where her coachman was still sleeping, they said nothing further, fearing that they had both said too much.
At the moment when she entered her carriage, Sulpice, suddenly, with an effort at boldness, said to her, as he leaned over the door:
"I must see you again, Marianne."
"What is the use?" she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his.
"Where shall I see you?" he asked, without replying to her question.
"I do not know—at my house—"