She let me have my way and even put one arm round my neck. Her eyes were closed. Her red lips opened and I inhaled the cool fragrance of her breath.
"Bérangère!" I whispered, trembling with emotion.
When I laid her on the bench, her arm held me more tightly, so that I had to bend my head with my face almost touching hers. I meant to draw back. But the temptation was too much for me and I kissed her on the lips, gently at first and then with a brutal violence which brought her to her senses.
She repelled me with an indignant movement and stammered, in a despairing, rebellious tone:
"Oh, it's abominable of you! . . . It's shameful!"
In spite of the suffering caused by her sprain, she had managed to stand up, while I, stupefied by my thoughtless conduct, stood bowed before her, without daring to raise my head.
We remained for some seconds in this attitude, in an embarrassed silence through which I could catch the hurried rhythm of her breathing. I tried gently to take her hands. But she released them at once and said:
"Let me be. I shall never forgive you, never."
"Come, Bérangère, you will forget that."
"Leave me alone. I want to go indoors."