"With him?" she exclaimed.
"Yes, with Valentine."
"Oh, what did you do there?"
She spoke with angry insistence, and Julian could not help thinking of
Valentine's remark, "That girl loves you." It seemed indeed that Cuckoo
must have some deep and wholly personal reason prompting her to this
strange demonstration of vexation.
"I can't tell you everything," Julian answered.
"Oh, you can't kid me over that. I know well enough what men go to Paris
for!" she rejoined, with almost hysterical bitterness.
Julian was silent. It was curious, but this girl stirred his conscience
from its sleep, as once Valentine alone could stir it. But by how
different a method! The stillness and calm of one who was sinless were
replaced by the vehemence and the passion of one who was steeped in sin.
And yet the two opposites had, to some extent, the same effect. Julian
did not yet realize this thoroughly, and did not analyze it at all. Had
any one hinted to him that the waning influence of Valentine for good
could ever be balanced by the waxing influence of the lady of the
feathers, he would have laughed at the crazy notion. And in the first
place he would have denied that Valentine's spell upon him had changed in
nature; for Valentine was still as a god to him.
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