She took Paul's hand and put it to her forehead.
"Can you feel anything?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; there'll be a swelling there."
"The girls will all laugh at me. I've heard that by pressing hard on the place you can prevent a swelling. Will you press on it, Monsieur Paul?"
"I am afraid of hurting you."
"No, no. Please press; don't be afraid."
The young man trembled in every limb as he pressed his hand against Elina's smooth, white forehead; her glossy fair hair was disarranged, and several curls fluttered about Paul's hand, increasing his emotion to such an extent that his hand suddenly slipped and rested on the girl's heart instead of on her forehead. Elina made no objection; she had forgotten all about the blow she had dealt herself. The heart almost always acts as a derivative, to use a medical term: when it is well occupied, one is conscious of no pain elsewhere.
Paul no longer knew what he was doing.
"Forgive me for loving you, mademoiselle," he faltered, in a trembling voice; "I know that it is very presumptuous of me; I am not worthy of you, for I am only a poor messenger; but my love is stronger than my reason, it will last all my life. This confession has escaped me in spite of myself. Pray don't be angry; I will never mention it again!"
Elina did not seem at all offended; her cheeks were crimson, and she kept her eyes on the floor, as she faltered in her turn: