He combed his black moustache and the little tuft on his chin, and I saw his white throat--so round!--must I tell you all?
I noticed that his throat and face and that beautiful black hair were all so different from yours when I watch you arranging your beard.

There came--I don't know how--a sort of glow into my heart, and up into my throat, my head; it came so violently that I sat down--I couldn't stand, I trembled so.

But I longed to see him again, and presently I got up; he saw me then, and, just for play, he sent me a kiss from the tips of his fingers and--" "And ?" "And then," she continued, "I hid myself--I was ashamed, but happy--why should I be ashamed of being happy?
That feeling--it dazzled my soul and gave it some power, but I don't know what--it came again each time I saw within me the same young face.

I loved this feeling, violent as it was.

Going to mass, some unconquerable power made me look at Monsieur Savinien with his mother on his arm; his walk, his clothes, even the tap of his boots on the pavement, seemed to me so charming.