“You disgust me!”

“Disgust!” he repeated, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Yes, and that is not enough,” she continued, indignantly, “I ought to say scorn instead of disgust.  You deceived me when you said you loved me—­you infamously deceived me!”

“But I adore you!” he exclaimed, with vehemence; “what proof do you wish of my love?”

“Go! go away at once!  A proof, did you say?  I will accept only one:  go, I order it, do you understand?”

Instead of obeying her, he seized her in his arms in spite of her resistance.

“Anything but that,” he said; “order me to kill myself at your feet, I will do it, but I will not go.”

She tried for a moment to disengage herself, but although she used all her strength, she was unable to do so.

“Oh, you are without pity,” she said, feebly, “but I abhor you; rather, a thousand times rather, kill me!”

Gerfaut was almost frightened by the agonized accent in which she spoke these words; he released her, but as he removed his arms, she reeled and he was obliged to support her.

“Why do you persecute me, then?” she murmured, as she fell in a faint upon her lover’s breast.

He picked her up in his arms and mounted the narrow stairs with difficulty.  Carrying her into the parlor, he placed her upon the divan.  She had completely lost consciousness; one would have believed her dead from the pallor of her face, were, it not for a slight trembling which agitated her form every few seconds and announced a nervous attack.  The most expert of lady’s maids could not have removed the little ribbon from her neck, which seemed to trouble her respiration, more adroitly than did Octave.  In spite of his anxiety, he could not repress a smile as he recognized the pin which he hardly expected to find upon Clemence’s neck, considering the hostile way in which she had greeted him.  He knelt before her and bathed her temples with cold water, making her also inhale some salts which he found upon the toilet table in the next room.  Little by little, these attentions produced an effect; the nervous convulsion became less frequent and a slight flush suffused her pale cheeks.  She opened her eyes and then closed them, as if the light troubled them; then, extending her arms, she passed them about Octave’s neck as he leaned over her; she remained thus for some time, breathing quietly and to all appearances sleeping.  Suddenly she said: 

“You will give me your pin, will you not?”

“Is not all that I have yours?” he replied, in a low tone.

“Mine!” she continued, in a feebly loving voice; “tell me again that you belong to me, to me alone, Octave!”

“You do not send me away any longer, then? you like me to be near you?” he said, with a happy smile, as he kissed the young woman’s brow.

“Oh! stay, I beg of you! stay with me forever!”

She folded her arms more tightly around him, as if she feared he might leave her.  Suddenly she sat up, opened her eyes, and gazed about her in silent astonishment.