"
"'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.
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