She had no time to analyze its meaning, but she knew that the shiver was not unmixed with fear.
"Madame, in God's name, do not play with me!" he cried.
"Monsieur, you forget yourself," for the moment forgetting her part.
"Yes, there is no self in my thoughts since they are all of you! You know that I love you.

Who could resist you?
Thirteen years?
They are well wasted, in the end to love a woman like you." Before she could withdraw her hands from the top of the chair he had seized them.
"Monsieur, release me." She struggled futilely.
"I love you." He began to draw her from behind the chair.
"Monsieur, Monsieur!" she, cried, genuinely alarmed; "do not forget that you are a gentleman." "I am not a gentleman now; I am a man who loves." Madame was now aware that what she had aroused could not be subdued by angry words.
"Monsieur, you say that you love me; do not degrade me by forcing me into your arms.

I am a woman, and weak, and you are hurting me." He let go her hands, and they stood there, breathing deeply and quickly.
But for her it was a respite.

She had been too precipitate.

She brought together the subtle forces of her mind.