Dorothea does not wait. She doesn't stop or even slow down until she's cleared the building--can't stand to feel the walls closing in on her as her entire life changes in an instant. Monks and nuns lift their heads, their attention drawn by the two pairs of boots on stone, one of them even calling after them that running isn't allowed.

It isn't until she's outside that she can't go any farther, catching herself against a wall to keep herself from tripping down a flight of stairs. She can't face him, can't even look at Sylvain as he catches up to her, feeling like a fool as she sinks down to sit on a sun-warmed step and chokes back a sob.

Maybe he'll leave her alone. Maybe he won't stick around to see the way her tears have made her makeup run down her cheeks. Given the circumstances of her life, Dorothea can easily say she's been more humiliated than she feels now, but never like this. This is a particular sort of agony she's honestly never felt before, and the presence of Sylvain, whose feelings towards her have always been hard to nail down, makes it worse.

"Please," she says, "don't..." Don't what? Don't try to tell her everything will be all right? Don't try to smooth this over with platitudes? Don't try to make her feel better with insincere words or feigned affection? "Just don't lie to me right now."