I was on the point of turning from her with a bow--and with a furnace in my breast--when she spoke.
'There is a last rose lingering there,' she said, a slight tremor in her voice.

'I cannot reach it.

Will you pluck it for me, M.de Berault ?' I obeyed her, my hand trembling, my face on fire.

She took the rose from me, and placed it in the bosom of her dress, And I saw that her hand trembled too, and that her cheek was dark with blushes.
She turned without more ado, and began to walk towards the house.
'Heaven forbid that I should misjudge you a second time!' she said in a low voice.

'And, after all, who am I, that I should judge you at all?
An hour ago I would have killed that man had I possessed the power.' 'You repented, Mademoiselle,' I said huskily.