She clung to Rodolphe. Her eyes, full of tears, flashed like flames beneath a wave; her breast heaved; he had never loved her so much, so that he lost his head and said “What is, it? What do you wish?”

“Take me away,” she cried, “carry me off! Oh, I pray you!”

And she threw herself upon his mouth, as if to seize there the unexpected consent if breathed forth in a kiss.

“But⁠—” Rodolphe resumed.

“What?”

“Your little girl!”

She reflected a few moments, then replied⁠—

“We will take her! It can’t be helped!”

“What a woman!” he said to himself, watching her as she went. For she had run into the garden. Someone was calling her.