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Runkle, Bertha, 1879-1958

"Helmet of Navarre"


I had no idea whether he really thought it or only said it to annoy
Lucas. At any rate it had its effect. Lucas's brows were knotted; he
spoke with an effort, like a man under stress of physical pain.
"I know she loves him now, and she would love him dead; but she would
not love him a parricide."
"Is that your creed? Pardieu! you don't know women. The blacker the
villain the more they adore him."
"I know it is true, monsieur," Lucas said smoothly, "that you have had
successes."
Mayenne started forward with half an oath, changing to a laugh.
"So it is not enough for you to possess the fair body of Lorance; you
must also have her love?"
"She will love me," Lucas answered uneasily. "She must."
"It is not worth your fret," Mayenne declared. "If she did, how long
would it last? _Souvent femme varie_--that is the only fixed fact about
her. If Lorance loves Mar to-day, she will love some one else to-morrow,
and some one else still the day after to-morrow. It is not worth while
disturbing yourself about it."
"She will not love any one else," Lucas said hoarsely.
Mayenne laughed.
"You are very young, Paul."
"She shall not love any one else! By the throne of heaven, she shall
not!"
Mayenne went on laughing. If Lucas had for the moment teased him out of
his equanimity, the duke had paid back the score a hundredfold.


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