"Only see how white my arm is." "Monster, begone! Begone!" shouted Jacques Ferrand, furious. Cecily burst into a loud fit of laughter. "No, no, it is too much to suffer! Oh, if I were not afraid of death!" said the notary, gloomily. "But to die is to renounce you altogether, and you are so beautiful! I would rather, then, suffer--and look at you." "Look at me? Why, that's what the wicket was made for; and so we can thus chat, like two friends in our solitude, which really is not irksome to me, you are such a good master! What a dangerous confession I make through the door!" "Will you never open this door? You see how submissive I am; this evening I might have tried to enter into your chamber with you, but I did not do so." "You are submissive for two reasons: in the first place, because you know that, having, from the necessity of my wandering life, always had the precaution to carry a stiletto, I can manage with a strong hand this inestimable jewel, whose tooth is sharper than a viper's; and you know, too, that, from the day in which I have to complain of you, I will quit this roof for ever, leaving you a thousand times more enamoured than ever,--since you have so greatly honoured your unworthy servant as to say that you are enamoured of her." "My servant? It is I who am your slave,--your mocked, derided, despised slave!" "That's true enough." "And yet it does not move you?" "It amuses me; the days, and especially the nights, are so long!" "Accursed creature!" "But, seriously, you look so perfectly wretched, your features have so sensibly altered, that I am quite flattered at it. It is a poor triumph, but you are the only one here." "To hear that, and me consume in impotent rage!" "Have you really any understanding? Why, I never said anything more tender." "Jeer at me,--jeer at me!" "I do not jeer. I never before saw a man of your age in love after your fashion; and, I must confess, a young and handsome man would be incapable of these outrageous passions. An Adonis admires himself as much as he admires us; he likes us, and we choose to notice him,--nothing more simple. He has a claim to our love, but is hardly grateful; but to show favour to a man like you, my master dear, would be to take him from earth to heaven, to fulfil his wildest dreams, his most insensate hopes. For if some being were to say to you, 'You love Cecily to distraction, if I chose she should be yours next minute,' you would suppose such a being endued with supernatural power, shouldn't you, master dear?" "Yes! Ah, yes!" "Well, if you could convince me more satisfactorily of your passion, I might, perchance, have the whimsical fancy to enact this supernatural part myself in your favour. Do you comprehend?" "I comprehend that you are still fooling me,--that you are still pitiless." "Perhaps,--for solitude creates so many singular fancies."