Jenny opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden reflection froze the words on her lips.  She remained silent and blushed violently, looking at Sauvresy with an indefinable expression.  He did not observe this, being inspired by a restless though aimless curiosity.  This proof, which Jenny talked about, worried him.

“Suppose,” said he, “you should show me this letter.”

She seemed to feel at these words an electric shock.

“To you?” she said, shuddering.  “Never!”

If, when one is sleeping, the thunder rolls and the storm bursts, it often happens that the sleep is not troubled; then suddenly, at a certain moment, the imperceptible flutter of a passing insect’s wing awakens one.

Jenny’s shudder was like such a fluttering to Sauvresy.  The sinister light of doubt struck on his soul.  Now his confidence, his happiness, his repose, were gone forever.  He rose with a flashing eye and trembling lips.

“Give me the letter,” said he, in an imperious tone.  Jenny recoiled with terror.  She tried to conceal her agitation, to smile, to turn the matter into a joke.

“Not to-day,” said she.  “Another time; you are too curious.”

But Sauvresy’s anger was terrible; he became as purple as if he had had a stroke of apoplexy, and he repeated, in a choking voice: 

“The letter, I demand the letter.”

“Impossible,” said Jenny.  “Because,” she added, struck with an idea, “I haven’t got it here.”

“Where is it?”

“At my room, in Paris.”

“Come, then, let us go there.”

She saw that she was caught; and she could find no more excuses, quick-witted as she was.  She might, however, easily have followed Sauvresy, put his suspicions to sleep with her gayety, and when once in the Paris streets, might have eluded him and fled.  But she did not think of that.  It occurred to her that she might have time to reach the door, open it, and rush downstairs.  She started to do so.  Sauvresy caught her at a bound, shut the door, and said, in a low, hoarse voice: 

“Wretched girl!  Do you wish me to strike you?”

He pushed her into a chair, returned to the door, double locked it, and put the keys in his pocket.  “Now,” said he, returning to the girl, “the letter.”

Jenny had never been so terrified in her life.  This man’s rage made her tremble; she saw that he was beside himself, that she was completely at his mercy; yet she still resisted him.

“You have hurt me very much,” said she, crying, “but I have done you no harm.”

He grasped her hands in his, and bending over her, repeated: 

“For the last time, the letter; give it to me, or I will take it by force.”

It would have been folly to resist longer.  “Leave me alone,” said she.  “You shall have it.”

He released her, remaining, however, close by her side, while she searched in all her pockets.  Her hair had been loosened in the struggle, her collar was torn, she was tired, her teeth chattered, but her eyes shone with a bold resolution.