He stood for a moment, silent; then, with a fresh burst of rage: "You love her, do you?
Why did you not tell me before?
Why were you not more frank with me ?" As he spoke, gesticulating furiously, in front of the open window, the deep red glow of the setting sun, piercing through the boughs of the ash-trees, threw its bright reflections on his blazing eyeballs and convulsed features.

His interlocutor, leaning against the opposite corner of the window-frame, noticed, with some anxiety, the extreme agitation of his behavior, and wondered what could be the cause of such emotion.
"I?
Not frank with you! Ah, that is a good joke, Monsieur de Buxieres! Naturally, I should not go proclaiming on the housetops that I have a tender feeling for Mademoiselle Vincart, but, all the same, I should have told you had you asked me sooner.

I am not reserved; but, you must excuse my saying it, you are walled in like a subterranean passage.

One can not get at the color of your thoughts.

I never for a moment imagined that you were interested in Reine, and you never have made me sufficiently at home to entertain the idea of confiding in you on that subject." Julien remained silent.