She discovered the effect she produced on him, and how, merely by her presence, she cheered this gloomy fancy and raised this depression by not asking him stupid questions on certain subjects which she had not yet determined on, but which she hoped to avoid. Also, she did not wish to leave him, and ingeniously invented excuses to go to see him twice a day; in the morning on going to her lessons, and in the afternoon or evening. Late one evening she rang his bell with a hand made nervous with joy. “I have come to stay till to-morrow,” she said, in triumphant tones. She expected that he would express his joy by an embrace, but he did nothing. “Are you going out?” “Not at all; I am not thinking of myself, but of your mother.” “Do you think that I would have left her alone in her weak and nervous state? A cousin of ours arrived from the country, who will occupy my bed, and I profited by it quick enough, saying that I would remain at the school. And here I am.” In spite of his desire for it, he had never dared ask her to pass the night with him. During the day he would only betray himself by his sad or fantastic temper; but at night, with such dreams as came to him, might not some word escape that would betray him? However, since she was come it was impossible to send her away; he could not do it for her nor for himself. What pretext could he find to say, “Go! I do not want you?” He wanted her above all; he wanted to look at her, to listen to her, to hear her voice that soothed and lulled his anguish, to feel her near him--only to have her there, and not be face to face with his thoughts. She examined him secretly, asking herself the cause of this singular reception, standing at the entrance of the office, not daring to remove her hat. How could her arrival produce an effect so different from what she expected? “You do not take off your hat?” he said. “I was asking myself if you had to work.” “Why do you ask yourself that?” “For fear of disturbing you.” “What a madness you have for always asking something!” he exclaimed violently. “What do you expect me to say? What astonishes you? Why should you disturb me? In what? ‘Voyons’, speak, explain yourself!” The time was far distant when these explosions surprised her, though they always pained her. “I speak stupidly,” she said. “What will you? I am stupid; forgive me.” These words, “forgive me,” were more cruel than numberless reproaches, for he well knew that he had nothing to forgive in her, since she was the victim and he the criminal. Should he never be able to master these explosions, as imprudent as they were unjust? He took her in his arms and made her sit by him. “It is for you to forgive,” he said.