When she
remained silent he sighed, and said with marked coldness--
"Faith, Madame, since it distresses you, we will not speak of
it. . . . As for Armand, I pray you have no fear. I pledge you
my word that he shall be safe. Now, have I your permission to go?
The hour is getting late, and. . ."
"You will at least accept my gratitude?" she said, as she drew
quite close to him, and speaking with real tenderness.
With a quick, almost involuntary effort he would have taken
her then in his arms, for her eyes were swimming in tears, which he
longed to kiss away; but she had lured him once, just like this, then
cast him aside like an ill-fitting glove. He thought this was but a
mood, a caprice, and he was too proud to lend himself to it once
again.
"It is too soon, Madame!" he said quietly; "I have done
nothing as yet. The hour is late, and you must be fatigued. Your
women will be waiting for you upstairs."
He stood aside to allow her to pass. She sighed, a quick sigh
of disappointment. His pride and her beauty had been in direct
conflict, and his pride had remained the conqueror. Perhaps, after
all, she had been deceived just now; what she took to be the light of
love in his eyes might only have been the passion of pride or, who
knows, of hatred instead of love.
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