And her manner was more cruel than her words.
'But, Mademoiselle,' I pleaded--I would not be discouraged--'you told me one day, not so long ago, that you would never judge me hastily again.' 'Facts judge you, not I,' she answered icily.

'I am not sufficiently on a level with you to be able to judge you--I thank God.' I shivered though the sun was on me, and the hollow where we stood was warm.
'Still, once before you thought the same,' I exclaimed after a pause, 'and afterwards you found that you had been wrong.

It may be so again, Mademoiselle.' 'Impossible,' she said.
That stung me.
'No,' I cried.

'It is not impossible.

It is you who are impossible.