He held out his hand, took hers, covered it with a greedy kiss, then held it on his knee; and he played delicately with her fingers whilst he murmured a thousand blandishments. His insipid voice murmured like a running brook; a light shone in his eyes through the glimmering of his spectacles, and his hand was advancing up Emma’s sleeve to press her arm. She felt against her cheek his panting breath. This man oppressed her horribly.

She sprang up and said to him⁠—

“Sir, I am waiting.”

“For what?” said the notary, who suddenly became very pale.

“This money.”

“But⁠—” Then, yielding to the outburst of too powerful a desire, “Well, yes!”

He dragged himself towards her on his knees, regardless of his dressing-gown.