But at the first warmth of breath upon his cheek, the explosion came. He snatched her in his arms as if she had been a child, and pressed her to his heart rapturously, but violently. And then his lips found hers, vehemently, almost brutally, as if he would take revenge upon them for the passion their sight and touch had roused in him. She struggled, but he pressed her tighter and tighter, till at length she gave up, and he felt only the rhythmic pulsing of her body.
When at length he released the lips and held the face from him to gaze into it fondly, her eyes were closed, and the head fell limply over his arm with the long tresses sweeping to the floor.
In sudden compunction he placed her tenderly upon the divan.
"I have hurt you, Marien; I have hurt you. Forgive me; oh, forgive me!" he implored in tones of deep feeling.
When she remained quite motionless, he asked, foolishly, "Marien, have you fainted?"
Slowly her bosom rose with a respiration so deep and long that it seemed to stir every fold of her pleated gown and every cushion on the divan, while with the eyes still closed the face moved gently from side to side to convey the negative.
"Thank God!" he groaned, dropping to his knees beside her, where, seizing her hand, he began to press his kisses upon it.
Presently disengaging the hand, Marien lifted it, felt her way over his face and began to push back the towsled mop of hair from his brow, and to stroke it affectionately.
"I thought I had hurt you," he crooned.
"You did," she murmured.