I walk very softly, so that you may not hear, for you might be alarmed.
The other evening I was behind you, you turned round, I fled.
Once, I heard you singing.
I was happy. Did it affect you because I heard you singing through the shutters? That could not hurt you.
No, it is not so?
You see, you are my angel!
Let me come sometimes; I think that I am going to die. If you only knew!
I adore you.
Forgive me, I speak to you, but I do not know what I am saying; I may have displeased you; have I displeased you?"
"Oh! my mother!" said she.
And she sank down as though on the point of death.
He grasped her, she fell, he took her in his arms, he pressed her close, without knowing what he was doing.
He supported her, though he was tottering himself.
It was as though his brain were full of smoke; lightnings darted between his lips; his ideas vanished; it seemed to him that he was accomplishing some religious act, and that he was committing a profanation.
Moreover, he had not the least passion for this lovely woman whose force he felt against his breast. He was beside himself with love.
She took his hand and laid it on her heart.
He felt the paper there, he stammered:--
"You love me, then?"
She replied in a voice so low that it was no longer anything more than a barely audible breath:--