It is his father's
side; it is his side. He cannot stay in Paris another day."
"I do not think he will go, mademoiselle."
"But he must!" she cried with vehemence. "Paris is not safe for him. If
he cannot stand for his wound, he must go. I will send him a letter
myself to tell him he must."
"Then he will never go."
"Felix!"
"He will not. He was going because he thought his lady flouted him; when
he finds she does not--well, if he budges a step out of Paris, I do not
know him. When he thought himself despised--"
"And why did I turn his suit into laughter in the salon if I did not
mean that I despised him? I did it for you to tell him how I made a mock
of him, that he might hate me and keep away from me."
"Oh," I said, "mademoiselle is beyond me; I cannot keep up with her."
"And you believed it! But you must needs spoil all by flaring out with
impudent speech."
"I crave mademoiselle's pardon. I was wrong and insolent. But she played
too well."
"And if it was not play?" she cried, rising. "If I do--well, I will not
say despise him--but care nothing for him? Will he then go to St. Denis?
Then tell him from me that he has my pity as one cruelly cozened, and my
esteem as a one-time servant of mine, but never my love. Tell him I
would willingly save him alive, for the sake of the love he once bore
me.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164