He shrugged his shoulders. "Delusion!" he said.
"You live by it. I have mine too. Don't kill it."
"What do you want?"
"I want us to avoid seeing each other till the day when we decide whether we are to unite our lives or not."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want, I don't want to hide any longer. I don't want any more sharing. I don't want it, I don't want it."
But she did not utter her deepest reason. ("If I gave in once more, I should soon cease to have the will to desire anything else. I should no longer belong to myself. I should be a toy that is broken after it has been spoiled.")
But he was incapable of understanding this instinctive revolt against one's enslavement to one's deadly desires. He could see in it nothing but defiance and a feminine trick to get the best of him. If he did not put this into words, he did not by any means conceal his feeling. When Annette perceived this, she made an impetuous movement to leave him. Philippe, trembling with impatience and the effort he was making not to betray it to the eyes of passers-by, seized Annette's arm, pressed it and said in a furious voice which he tried to muffle, "As for me, I will not, will not give you up. I will see you. Be still! Don't answer. . . . We can't talk here. . . . I shall come and see you this evening."
"No, no!" she said.
"I shall come," he said. "I cannot live without you. Nor can you live without me."