But Gilberte would not listen. Although her extreme innocence had preserved her at first contact with the world, nevertheless she was beginning to see a glimmer of the meaning of many things; and she was frightened of the words that were coming. No, she would not hear them from the lips of this man, she would not allow this man to be the first to speak them in her ear. She had a sudden intuition of their importance and their sweetness and their magic; and she felt that it was almost a contamination to hear them.
She entreated him:
“Be quiet.... I shall be so grateful if you will....”
“No, no,” he cried, “I must speak. Ever since I have known you, the words I have to say have been on my lips, suffocating me.... Gilberte, Gilberte, I....”
She gave a desperate glance, the glance of a victim which does not know how to defend itself and awaits the blow that is about to fall. He stammered:
“Oh, your eyes ... your eyes ...!”
He remained on his knees, humble and undecided, and repeated, in a low voice:
“Your eyes ... yes ... my father told me ... child’s eyes that put one off....”
He rose and struck his fist upon the table: