Des Boys this evening, to-morrow morning at latest.... He will laugh at me. But that's all. He will have to give in afterwards. My will, Rose's will... I shall carry her off and take her to Paris. Is it my first adventure? If it's the last it will at least be a splendid one."
He pictured to himself all the details of this romantic enterprise. He would, of course, reserve a compartment in the train so as to insure a propitious solitude. It would not be at night, but in the evening. After an amusing little supper and some thrilling kisses, Rose would go to sleep on his shoulder and from time to time he would touch her breast, kiss her eyelids. She would be, at this moment, at once his wife and his mistress, the woman who has given herself, but whom one has not yet taken, a beautiful fruit to be looked at and delicately handled before it is at last relished. What an exquisite creature of love she would be! How docile her curiosity! What a pupil, like clay in the hands of the sculptor. An elopement? Why not a marriage tour? No, no elopements! no romantic nonsense! Des Boys will give me his daughter when I want...."
