"How dare you! how dare you!" cried Camelia, bursting into tears. "It is false--false--false!"
Taken aback, Perior stared blankly at her. It was the first time that he had reduced her to weeping. "Oh, Camelia!" he stood still--he would not approach her; he felt that since she could cry her helplessness was fully armed, and he quite helpless; his supremacy robbed of all value.
"Every word you say is false!" she said, returning his stare defiantly, while the tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am _not_ scheming to marry him! I have not let him propose to me yet! I am not sure that I shall; I am not sure that I shall accept him, and if I do, it will be because I love him!"
Perior hardly believed her, and yet he was much confused, especially as with a fresh access of sobs her face quivered in the pathetic grimace of loveliness distorted; before that the real issue of the situation seemed slipping away; her repudiation of the greater dishonesty effaced, for the moment, the smaller; he had nothing to say--she probably believed in herself; and those helpless sobs were so touching to him that, notwithstanding his unappeased anger against her, he could have gone to her and taken her in his arms to comfort her, at any cost--even at the cost of seeming to ask pardon. He did not do this, however, but said, "Don't cry, don't cry, Camelia; you mustn't cry. I'm glad you feel it in that way; I am glad you can cry over it." He did not go to her, but his very attitude of nervous hesitation told Camelia that he was worsted--at least worsted enough for the practical purposes of the moment.
She got out her handkerchief and dried her eyes, still feeling very sore-hearted, very much injured; but when the tears were gone she came up to him saying, while she looked at him with all the victorious pathos of wet lashes and trembling lips, "You are not kind to me, Alceste."
He moved away from her a little, but took her hands. "Because you are naughty, Célimène."
"Don't, please don't speak of it again, Camelia."
"Oh, you little rogue!" Taking her face between his hands he studied it with a sad curiosity. "I am sorry for having _had_ to say it."
"Oh, prig, prig, prig." She smiled at him now from the narrow frame, her own delicious smile.