“‘Sh! mademoiselle, I implore you,” I cried. “I take shame at the memory of it. Almost as much shame as I take at the memory of that other bargain which first brought me to Lavedan. The shame of the former one I have wiped out – although, perchance, you think it not. I am wiping out the shame of the latter one. It was unworthy in me, mademoiselle, but I loved you so dearly that it seemed to me that no matter how I came by you, I should rest content if I but won you. I have since seen the error if it, the injustice of it. I will not take what is not freely given. And so, farewell.”
“I see, I see,” she murmured, and ignored the hand that I held out. “I am very glad of it, monsieur.”
I withdrew my hand sharply. I took up my hat from the chair on which I had cast it. She might have spared me that, I thought. She need not have professed joy. At least she might have taken my hand and parted in kindness.
“Adieu, mademoiselle!” I said again, as stiffly as might be, and I turned towards the door.
“Monsieur!” she called after me. I halted.
“Mademoiselle?”
She stood demurely, with eyes downcast and hands folded. “I shall be so lonely here.”
I stood still. I seemed to stiffen. My heart gave a mad throb of hope, then seemed to stop. What did she mean? I faced her fully once more, and, I doubt not, I was very pale. Yet lest vanity should befool me, I dared not act upon suspicions. And so “True, mademoiselle,” said I. “You will be lonely. I regret it.”
As silence followed, I turned again to the door, and my hopes sank with each step in that direction.
“Monsieur!”
Her voice arrested me upon the very threshold.
“What shall a poor girl do with this great estate upon her hands? It will go to ruin without a man to govern it.”
“You must not attempt the task. You must employ an intendant.”
I caught something that sounded oddly like a sob. Could it be? Dieu! could it be, after all? Yet I would not presume. I half turned again, but her voice detained me. It came petulantly now.
“Monsieur de Bardelys, you have kept your promise nobly. Will you ask no payment?”
“No, mademoiselle,” I answered very softly; “I can take no payment.”
Her eyes were lifted for a second. Their blue depths seemed dim. Then they fell again.
“Oh, why will you not help me?” she burst out, to add more softly: “I shall never be happy without you!”
“You mean?” I gasped, retracing a step, and flinging my hat in a corner.
“That I love you, Marcel – that I want you!”
“And you can forgive – you can forgive?” I cried, as I caught her.
Her answer was a laugh that bespoke her scorn of everything – of everything save us two, of everything save our love. That and the pout of her red lips was her answer. And if the temptation of those lips – But there! I grow indiscreet.
Still holding her, I raised my voice.
“Ganymede!” I called.
“Monseigneur?” came his answer through the open window.
“Bid those knaves dismount and unsaddle.”