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.