She would never be the same to him, never so radiant, so sweet, so adorable; her charm for him would vanish in an instant.

Across her forehead, her little pale forehead, under the shadow of her royal hair, he would surely see the smudge of a foul ordure, the footprint of the monster.

It would be a sacrilege, an abomination.

He recoiled from it, banding all his strength to the issue.
"No, by God! No, by God!" He turned to his work, as if seeking a refuge in it.

But as he drew near to her again, the charm of her innocence and helplessness came over him afresh.