"You! You! It's you!" was all she could say. She saw the pupils of his eyes shining and heavy with desire, and while she gazed at him a cloud gathered before her eyes. The subtle fire of her blood, the burning of her loins, the warm breath of her lungs, the fiery colour of her face, were all blended in her mouth, and she pressed on her lover's lips a long, long kiss, a kiss pregnant with all these fires and as fresh as a flower in the dew. They asked one another twenty things at a time, and their questions intermingled. "Were you wretched, Robert, when you were away from me?" "So you are making your debut at the Comedie? "Is The Hague a pretty place?" "Yes, a quiet little town. Red, grey, yellow houses, with stepped gables, green shutters, and geraniums at the windows." "What did you do there?" "Not much. I walked round the Vijver." "You did not go with women, I should hope?" "No, upon my word. How pretty you are, my darling! Are you well again now?" "Yes, I am cured." And in sudden entreaty she said: "Robert, I love you. Do not leave me. If you were to leave me I know for certain I could never take another lover. And what would become of me? You know that I can't do without love." He replied brusquely, in a harsh voice, that he loved her only too well, that he thought of nothing but of her. "I'm going crazy with it." His harshness delighted and reassured her better than the nerveless tenderness of oaths and promises could have done. She smiled and began to undress herself generously. "When do you make your debut at the Comedie?" "This very month." She opened her little bag, and took from it, together with her face-powder, her call for the rehearsal, which she held out to Robert. It was a source of unending delight to her to gaze admiringly at this document, because it bore the heading of the Comedie, with the remote and awe-inspiring date of its foundation. "You see, I make my debut as Agnes in _L'Ecole des Femmes_." "It's a fine part." "I believe you." And, while she was undressing, the lines surged to her lips, and she whispered them: "Moi, j'ai blesse quelqu'un? fis-je tout etonnee Oui, dit-elle, blesse; mais blesse tout de bon; Et c'est l'homme qu'hier vous vites au balcon Las! qui pourrait, lui dis-je, en avoir ete cause? Sur lui, sans y penser, fis-je choir quelque chose?" "You see, I have not grown thin." "Non, dit-elle, vos yeux ont fait ce coup fatal, Et c'est de leurs regards qu'est venu tout son mal." "If anything, I am a little plumper, but not too much." "He, mon Dieu! ma surprise est, fis-je, sans seconde; Mes yeux ont-ils du mal pour en donner au monde?" He listened to the lines with pleasure. If on the one hand he did not know much more of the literature of bygone days or of French tradition than his youthful contemporaries, he had more taste and more lively interests. And, like all Frenchmen, he loved Moliere, understood him, and felt him profoundly.