“Go, try, try! I will love you so!”
He went out, and came back at the end of an hour, saying, with solemn face—
“I have been to three people with no success.”
Then they remained sitting face to face at the two chimney corners, motionless, in silence. Emma shrugged her shoulders as she stamped her feet. He heard her murmuring—
“If I were in your place I should soon get some.”
“But where?”
“At your office.” And she looked at him.
An infernal boldness looked out from her burning eyes, and their lids drew close together with a lascivious and encouraging look, so that the young man felt himself growing weak beneath the mute will of this woman who was urging him to a crime. Then he was afraid, and to avoid any explanation he smote his forehead, crying—
“Morel is to come back tonight; he will not refuse me, I hope” (this was one of his friends, the son of a very rich merchant); “and I will bring it you tomorrow,” he added.
Emma did not seem to welcome this hope with all the joy he had expected. Did she suspect the lie? He went on, blushing—
“However, if you don’t see me by three o’clock do not wait for me, my darling. I must be off now; forgive me! Goodbye!”
He pressed her hand, but it felt quite lifeless. Emma had no strength left for any sentiment.