But since she did not repulse him, he must not despair.

She perhaps was, as she said, unused to fond dalliance, and he must be more controlled, and wait.

So with an inward sense of pain and chill in his heart, he set himself to divert her otherwise, talking of the books which they both loved, and so at last, when Nicholas announced that dejeuner was ready, some color and animation had come back to her face.
But when she was alone in her room she looked out of the high window and passionately threw up her arms.
"I cannot bear it again!" she wailed fiercely.

"I feel an utterly degraded wretch." At breakfast the Pere Anselme watched her intently while he kept his aloof air.

He felt that something extra had disturbed her.