This locket means nothing." He pulled it forth, took the
chain from round his neck. "You never wore it; it is nothing. I do
not need it to recall your likeness. Since I have been the puppet,
since even God mocks me by bringing you here, take the locket."
She looked, not at the locket nor at the hand which held it, but into
his eyes. In hers the wrath was gone; there was even a humorous
sparkle under the heavy lashes. She made no sign that she saw the
jeweled miniature. She was thinking how strong he was, how handsomely
dignity and pride sat upon his face.
"Will you take it?" he repeated.
Her hands went slowly behind her back.
"Does this mean that, having lain upon my heart for more than a year,
it is no longer of value to you?" He laid the chain and locket upon
the table. "Yesterday I had thought my cup was full." The mask lay
crumpled at his feet, and he recovered it absently. "You?" he cried,
suddenly, as the picture came back. He looked at the mask, then at
her. "Was it you who came into that room at the Corne d'Abondance in
Rochelle, and when I addressed you, would not speak? Oh! You, were
implicated in a conspiracy, and you were on the way to Spain.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345