Lo?" she asked with fine irony. "Or no, I will not tempt
you," she went on quickly, seeing him hesitate. "I heard you talking to
Madame St. Lo in the gallery while I sat within. And I know how long you
were with her."
"I met Madame as I returned," he stammered, his face still hot, "and I
asked her where you were. I did not know, Mademoiselle, that I was not
to speak to ladies of my acquaintance."
"I was alone, and I was waiting."
"I could not know that--for certain," he answered, making the best of it.
"You were not where I left you. I thought, I confess--that you had gone.
That you had gone home."
"With whom? With whom?" she repeated pitilessly. "Was it likely? With
whom was I to go? And yet it is true, I might have gone home had I
pleased--with M. de Tavannes! Yes," she continued, in a tone of keen
reproach, and with the blood mounting to her forehead, "it is to that,
Monsieur, you expose me! To be pursued, molested, harassed by a man
whose look terrifies me, and whose touch I--I detest! To be addressed
wherever I go by a man whose every word proves that he thinks me game for
the hunter, and you a thing he may neglect. You are a man and you do not
know, you cannot know what I suffer! What I have suffered this week past
whenever you have left my side!"
Tignonville looked gloomy.
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