CHAPTER 8.
However (continued Armand after a pause), while I knew myself to be still in love with her, I felt more sure of myself, and part of my desire to speak to Marguerite again was a wish to make her see that I was stronger than she.
How many ways does the heart take, how many reasons does it invent for itself, in order to arrive at what it wants! I could not remain in the corridor, and I returned to my place in the stalls, looking hastily around to see what box she was in.

She was in a ground-floor box, quite alone.

She had changed, as I have told you, and no longer wore an indifferent smile on her lips.

She had suffered; she was still suffering.

Though it was April, she was still wearing a winter costume, all wrapped up in furs.
I gazed at her so fixedly that my eyes attracted hers.