"Let us part here at once,--I insist upon it;
farewell!" she said. She turned hastily back, made a few steps, and
then returned to him. "No, no," she continued, "I have too great an
interest in knowing who you are. Hide nothing from me; tell me the
truth. Who are you? for you are no more a pupil of the Ecole
Polytechnique than you are eighteen years old."
"I am a sailor, ready to leave the ocean and follow you wherever your
imagination may lead you. If I have been so lucky as to rouse your
curiosity in any particular I shall be very careful not to lessen it.
Why mingle the serious affairs of real life with the life of the heart
in which we are beginning to understand each other?"
"Our souls might have understood each other," she said in a grave
voice. "But I have no right to exact your confidence. You will never
know the extent of your obligations to me; I shall not explain them."
They walked a few steps in silence.
"My life does interest you," said the young man.
"Monsieur, I implore you, tell me your name or else be silent. You are
a child," she added, with an impatient movement of her shoulders, "and
I feel a pity for you."
The obstinacy with which she insisted on knowing his name made the
pretended sailor hesitate between prudence and love. The vexation of a
desired woman is powerfully attractive; her anger, like her
submission, is imperious; many are the fibres she touches in a man's
heart, penetrating and subjugating it.
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