But he had not moved; his
massive figure looked the very personification of unbending pride, of
fierce obstinacy.
Hot tears again surged to her eyes, as she would not let him
see them, she turned quickly within, and ran as fast as she could up
to her own rooms.
Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more on to
the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made
her own sufferings seem but light and easy to bear--a strong man,
overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given
way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a
man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light
footsteps had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the
terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by
one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone
balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last.
CHAPTER XVII FAREWELL
When Marguerite reached her room, she found her maid terribly
anxious about her.
"Your ladyship will be so tired," said the poor woman, whose
own eyes were half closed with sleep.
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