A recollection doubled her fears. On the evening before at Mme. de la Vaudraye’s, a turn in the conversation had led her to say that her servants were going to this fair. So they knew that she was all alone at the Logis. Her one thought was to close the window, fasten down the shutters and place an obstacle between herself and the snares that were being laid for her in the threatening darkness; and yet she dared not stir, as though the least movement would have exposed her to immediate dangers.... But what dangers? She made an effort and rose from her chair. At the same moment, a head appeared and a man strode across the balcony and sprang into the room. It was Simare. The revulsion of feeling was such that she almost felt inclined to laugh. Wearily, she sat down and murmured: “Oh, monsieur, you ought not to have done this!... I should never have thought it of you....” He flung himself on his knees: “Do not judge me unheard.... I am not master of myself.... I have to go away for a month ... and I wanted to see you ... to tell you what I feel, what I suffer.... Oh, you don’t know how your indifference has tortured me.... My sadness, my admiration, my hopes, my emotion, when in your presence: you have understood none of these ... but then you never do understand.... At this very moment, when I am here, at your knees, when I am imploring you, when I am proclaiming my sorrow and my obsession, I feel that my words do not reach you. And yet they must. You must, you shall know what I have to say to you.... Listen to me....” But Gilberte would not listen. Although her extreme innocence had preserved her at first contact with the world, nevertheless she was beginning to see a glimmer of the meaning of many things; and she was frightened of the words that were coming. No, she would not hear them from the lips of this man, she would not allow this man to be the first to speak them in her ear. She had a sudden intuition of their importance and their sweetness and their magic; and she felt that it was almost a contamination to hear them. She entreated him: “Be quiet.... I shall be so grateful if you will....” “No, no,” he cried, “I must speak. Ever since I have known you, the words I have to say have been on my lips, suffocating me.... Gilberte, Gilberte, I....” She gave a desperate glance, the glance of a victim which does not know how to defend itself and awaits the blow that is about to fall. He stammered: “Oh, your eyes ... your eyes ...!” He remained on his knees, humble and undecided, and repeated, in a low voice: “Your eyes ... yes ... my father told me ... child’s eyes that put one off....” He rose and struck his fist upon the table: “No, after all, I will not allow myself to be thwarted. I mean to speak and I shall speak.... If your eyes prevent me, well, I sha’n’t see your eyes!” He went to the lamp and, with a sudden movement, put it out.