I no longer knew myself. I uttered some nonsense, that she laughed at, whispered pet names into her mouth, caressed her cheek, kissed her many times. I undid a couple of buttons in her bodice and caught a glimpse of her breasts inside--white rounded breasts, that peeped out like two sweet wonders behind her linen. “May I see?” I say, and I try to undo more buttons to make the opening wider, but my movements are too rough, I make no way with the lower buttons; besides, the bodice tightened there. “May I just see a little ... a little?” She winds her arms about my neck, quite slowly, tenderly, the breath of her pink quivering nostrils fans me right in the face; with one hand she begins herself to undo the buttons one by one. She laughs embarrassedly, laughs shortly, and looks up at me several times, to see if I notice that she is afraid. She loosens strings, unclasps her stays, is fascinated and frightened--and I finger with my clumsy hands at these buttons and strings.... To divert my attention from what she is doing, she strokes down my shoulders with her left hand, and says, “What a lot of loose hair there is.” “Yes,” I reply, and I try to penetrate into her breast with my mouth. She is lying at this moment with completely loosened clothes. Suddenly, as if she changes her mind, as if she thinks she has gone too far, she covers herself again and rises up a little, and, to hide her confusion at the state of her clothes, she begins to remark anew on the mass of loose hair that covers my shoulders. “What can be the reason that your hair falls out so?” “Don’t know.” “Ah, of course, because you drink too much, and perhaps ... fie, I won’t say it. You ought to be ashamed. No, I wouldn’t have believed that of you! To think that you, who are so young, already should lose your hair! Now, do please just tell me what sort of way you really spend your life--I am certain it is dreadful! But only the truth, do you hear; no evasions. Anyway, I shall see by you if you hide anything--there, tell now!” “Yes; but let me kiss you on your breast first, then.” “Are you mad? Well, begin now.” “No, dear; do give me leave, now, to do that first.” “Humph, no; not first; ... maybe afterwards.... I want to hear what kind of a man you are.... Ah, I am sure it is dreadful.” It hurt me that she should believe the worst of me; I was afraid of thrusting her away entirely, and I could not endure the misgivings she had as to my way of life. I would clear myself in her eyes, make myself worthy of her, show her that she was sitting at the side of a person almost angelically disposed. Why, bless me, I could count my falls up to date on my fingers. I related--related all--and I only related truth. I made out nothing any worse than it was; it was not my intention to rouse her compassion. I told her also that I had stolen five shillings one evening.