"I must go away, Roger," she said.
He shouted: "Go away, you! . . . I don't want you to! . . ."
He had seized her arms, and was squeezing them brutally. Then he caught sight of her proud face, obstinate and glacial; he felt that he was lost, he let go, he begged pardon, he prayed, he pleaded.
"Annette! My little Annette! Stay, stay! . . . No, it isn't possible. . . . But what has happened? What have I done?"
Pity reappeared on the firm face. She said:
"Let's sit down, Roger. . . ."
(He seated himself docilely beside her on a mossy bank: his eyes never left her, imploring at every word).
". . . Be calm, everything must be explained. . . . Be calm, I beg of you! . . . Believe me that I have to use all my strength to be. . . . I could not speak unless I forced myself to do so. . . ."
"But don't speak," he cried. "It is madness! . . ."
"It is necessary."