"I know.... I know.... Rue Murillo.... No. 18. Well, you must not ... no, you must not go.... I assure you, you will regret it. Because I tell you this, you need not think that I am interested in any way. I have a reason; I know what I am saying."
He tried to push her aside. She insisted:
"I entreat you; do not be obstinate.... Oh, if I only knew how to convince you! Look into me, look into the depths of my eyes ... they are sincere ... they speak the truth...."
Desperately, she raised her eyes, a pair of beautiful, grave and limpid eyes that seemed to reflect her very soul. Wilson nodded his head:
"The young lady seems quite sincere," he said.
"Indeed I am," she said beseechingly, "and you must trust me...."
"I do trust you, mademoiselle," replied Wilson.
"Oh, how happy you make me! And your friend trusts me too, does he not? I feel it.... I am sure of it! How glad I am! All will be well!... Oh, what a good idea I had! Listen, Mr. Shears: there's a train for Calais in twenty minutes.... Now, you must take it.... Quick, come with me: it's this way and you have not much time."
She tried to drag Shears with her. He seized her by the arm and, in a voice which he strove to make as gentle as possible, said: "Forgive me, mademoiselle, if I am not able to accede to your wish; but I never turn aside from a task which I have undertaken."
"I entreat you.... I entreat you.... Oh, if you only knew!"