“Mademoiselle, you have not forgiven me,” I said, without preliminaries.
“Why?”
She turned, startled, and the new conflict I saw in the haunted weariness of her glance brought me a sense of coming victory.
“Because you avoid me.”
“I?”
She could not meet the direct challenge of my look and turned away. Still I pursued, without compassion.
“Yes. You avoid me. Would you rather that I did not remain here?” I asked suddenly, sure of her answer. “For nothing in the world would I do anything that would be distasteful to you. Tell me only what you wish. Shall I go?”
She hesitated and, before the trouble I felt in her, my resolve almost gave way. Yet, because I was fighting for both of us, I held firm.
“Only tell me what you wish.”
Once or twice she seemed to make up her mind to speak, but each time she checked herself.