"No," she said, gently, wishing to conciliate him. "I am a friend."
"A friend? To what length?"
"To the length to which I wish to go."
"Not the length to which I wish?"
"Oh, no, never!"
"But perhaps we both wish to go to the same length?"
He had stood up, with his blood on fire. She remained seated calmly, almost languidly, with her head thrown back. She did not reply. He fell on his knees, seized her hand and was kissing it before she could prevent him:
"Oh, angel, angel! Oh, demon!" he muttered, between his kisses.
She now withdrew her hand, pushed him away from her gently and said:
"How quick an Italian is with his kisses!"