She did not speak, could hardly breathe.

She was agitated and very pale.
He sat down facing her.

She looked at him with her mysterious, half sleepy eyes.

He felt that he was falling in love all over again.

He forgot his reasonings and his fears, and took acute pleasure in penetrating the mystery of these eyes and studying the vague smile of this dolorous mouth.
He enlaced her fingers in his, and for the first time, in a low voice, he called her Hyacinthe.
She listened, her breast heaving, her hands in a fever.