He opened his lips to confess to her his purpose, and had he done so assuredly she would have persuaded him from it.

But in the very act of speaking, he hesitated.

It was characteristic of him to do so.

Whether she instinctively felt that there was something concealed from her, or guessed that the discontent she knew he had so long endured was coming to a point, or feared lest what she had told him might drive him to some ill-considered act, she begged him with all the power of her love to do nothing hasty, or in despair, nothing that would separate them.

He threw his arms around her, he pressed her closely to him, he trembled with the passion and the struggle within him.
"My lady calls for you, Mademoiselle," said a voice; it was Aurora's maid who had kept watch.