Au Bonheur des Dames (The Ladies' Delight) by Émile Zola:
He dashed in front of the door.
‘At least, defend yourself! Say something!’
She stood there, bolt upright, in icy silence. For a long time he plied her with questions, growing increasingly anxious; and once again the silent dignity of this virgin was like the cunning ruse of a woman who knew just how to manipulate a man’s passion. She could not have played a part that would throw him at her feet, more than ever torn by doubt, more than ever anxious to be convinced.
‘Come, now, you say he is from your part of the world. Perhaps that is where you met. Swear to me that nothing has passed beween you.’