Gustave,
misunderstanding her silence, and congratulating himself upon the
effect he had produced, grew bolder, and with the tenderest and
most impassioned inflection he could impart to his voice,
continued: "Who could fail to be impressed as I have been? How
could one behold, without rapturous admiration, such beautiful
eyes, such glorious black hair, such smiling lips, such a graceful
mien, such wonderful charms of person and of mind? How would it be
possible to listen, unmoved, to a voice which is clearer and purer
than crystal? Ah! my mother's descriptions fell far short of the
truth. But how can one describe the perfections of an angel? To
any one who has the happiness or the misfortune of knowing you,
there can only be one woman in the world!"
He had gradually approached her chair, and now extended his hand
to take hold of Marguerite's, and probably raise it to his lips.
But she shrank from the contact as from red-hot iron, and rising
hurriedly, with her eyes flashing, and her voice quivering with
indignation: "Monsieur!" she exclaimed, "Monsieur!"
He was so surprised that he stood as if petrified, with his eyes
wide open and his hand still extended. "Permit me--allow me to
explain," he stammered. But she declined to listen. "Who has
told you that you could address such words to me with impunity?"
she continued. "Your parents, I suppose; I daresay they told you
to be bold.
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