He looked at her in stupefaction.  She had that dolent, troubled look in her eyes.  She even seemed not to see him, but to be looking into space.  He hesitated....  In a sudden flash of thought he saw the scenes of incubacy of which Gevingey had spoken.  “We shall untangle all this later,” he thought within himself, “meanwhile—­” He took her gently by the arms, drew her to him and abruptly kissed her mouth.

She rebounded as if she had had an electric shock.  She struggled to rise.  He strained her to him and embraced her furiously, then with a strange gurgling cry she threw her head back and caught his leg between both of hers.

He emitted a howl of rage, for he felt her haunches move.  He understood now—­or thought he understood!  She wanted a miserly pleasure, a sort of solitary vice....

He pushed her away.  She remained there, quite pale, choking, her eyes closed, her hands outstretched like those of a frightened child.  Then Durtal’s wrath vanished.  With a little cry he came up to her and caught her again, but she struggled, crying, “No!  I beseech you, let me go.”

He held her crushed against his body and attempted to make her yield.

“I implore you, let me go.”

Her accent was so despairing that he relinquished her.  Then he debated with himself whether to throw her brutally on the floor and violate her.  But her bewildered eyes frightened him.

She was panting and her arms hung limp at her sides as she leaned, very pale, against the bookcase.

“Ah!” he said, marching up and down, knocking into the furniture, “I must really love you, if in spite of your supplications and refusals—­”

She joined her hands to keep him away.

“Good God!” he said, exasperated, “what are you made of?”

She came to herself, and, offended, she said to him, “Monsieur, I too suffer.  Spare me,” and pell-mell she spoke of her husband, of her confessor, and became so incoherent that Durtal was frightened.  She was silent, then in a singing voice she said, “Tell me, you will come to my house tomorrow night, won’t you?”

“But I suffer too!”

She seemed not to hear him.  In her smoky eyes, far, far back, there seemed to be a twinkle of feeble light.  She murmured, in the cadence of a canticle, “Tell me, dear, you will come tomorrow night, won’t you?”

“Yes,” he said at last.

Then she readjusted herself and without saying a word quitted the room.  In silence he accompanied her to the entrance.  She opened the door, turned around, took his hand and very lightly brushed it with her lips.

He stood there stupidly, not knowing what to make of her behaviour.