Philippe was burning with passion and resentment. But when his hard glance encountered Annette's, which did not avoid him, he perceived the suffering that she was firmly controlling. His anger melted, and in a softened voice he asked, "Why did you run away?" "Because you are killing me." "Don't you know what it is to love?" "I do know, and that is why I ran away. I am afraid of hating you." "Well, hate me, if you like. Hating is a way of loving." "Not for me," she said. "I can't endure it." "You are not so weak that you can't endure both the good and evil of a complete love." "I am not so weak, Philippe. I want a complete love. Body and soul. I don't want merely half." "The soul is all nonsense," he said. "Then to what purpose have you devoted all your energy? For what have you sacrificed yourself, ever since you were born, if not to your Idea?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Delusion!" he said. "You live by it. I have mine too. Don't kill it." "What do you want?" "I want us to avoid seeing each other till the day when we decide whether we are to unite our lives or not." "Why?" "Because I don't want, I don't want to hide any longer. I don't want any more sharing. I don't want it, I don't want it." But she did not utter her deepest reason. ("If I gave in once more, I should soon cease to have the will to desire anything else. I should no longer belong to myself. I should be a toy that is broken after it has been spoiled.") But he was incapable of understanding this instinctive revolt against one's enslavement to one's deadly desires. He could see in it nothing but defiance and a feminine trick to get the best of him. If he did not put this into words, he did not by any means conceal his feeling. When Annette perceived this, she made an impetuous movement to leave him. Philippe, trembling with impatience and the effort he was making not to betray it to the eyes of passers-by, seized Annette's arm, pressed it and said in a furious voice which he tried to muffle, "As for me, I will not, will not give you up. I will see you. Be still! Don't answer. . . . We can't talk here. . . . I shall come and see you this evening." "No, no!" she said. "I shall come," he said. "I cannot live without you. Nor can you live without me." "I can," she said, rebelliously. "You lie!" They struggled, without moving, in low, violent voices, lashing each other's souls. They measured each other with their eyes. Philippe's gave way. "Annette!" he besought her. But her cheeks still burned with the brutal lie he had given her, the shame of thinking that she really had lied. She stiffened, freed herself from the hand that held her, and went away.