omary.

And suddenly, amid the thousand details that engaged my attention, a
light flashed across me: was not Rose's companion one of the boarders in
the house, perhaps that painter of whom she had told me, the one who
made a sketch of her head which she brought to me a few days after her
arrival in Paris?

His eyes never left her. He watched and followed her every movement,
whereas she, in her perfect composure, did not seem even to heed his
presence. And that was what struck me: Rose's impassiveness in the face
of that anxious and silent prayer. Did she not see? Could she not
understand? I almost longed to rush at her and cry:

"But look, open your eyes; that man is entreating you!... If you do not
share his emotions, at least be touched by his suffering; if not your
lips, give him a glance or a smile!"

Oh, how like her it all is! And how the anxious pleading of the wooer
resembles the vain waiting of the friend! But, alas, what in my case is
but a disappointment of the heart, a tiresome obstacle to the evolution
of an idea, is perhaps in his case a cruel and lasting ordeal!

Suddenly, he falls on his knees before the girl. With his shaking hands,
he touches her breast; then he kisses it gently. She does not repel him,
but her bored and absent expression discourages any amorous action and
withers the kisses at the very moment when they alight upon her flesh.
Then he half-raises himself to gaze at her from head to foot; and with
all his ardour he silently asks for the consenting smile and the word
that gives permission.

I shall never forget his look, the superb animal look, brilliant,
glowing and empty as a ball-room deserted by the dancers, the superb,
outspoken look that accompanies the gift of life and seems to flee its
mystery at the moment when it approaches.

He stammered a few tender words. His voice thrilled me. It was grave and
clear as a bronze and silver bell. It rang true, for the most ephemeral
desire is not false. I knew, by the sense of his words, that Rose had
not yet given herself.

Sullenly and as though annoyed by the soft words, she brought the dark
stuff of her bodice over her white bosom. To the young man it was like a
cloud passing over the sky; and, whether or not because the girl's
resistance exasperated him, he suddenly pressed her to him, sought her
lips and made her bend for a moment under the violence of his embrace.
But, with an abrupt movement, with a sort of vindictive rage, s