“Hélène, I think you are blushing,” said he, mischievously.
She turned her head away from him. He rose and opened the window, leaning out a moment; his heart was beating violently. Presently he returned.
“It’s one o’clock.”
No answer.
“Hélène, it’s one o’clock in the morning.”
“Are you tired?” she murmured.
“No.”
“Nor I—don’t go.”
“But it’s one o’clock.”
“Don’t go yet.”