She understood this tact, this
diplomacy which, though it chafed her, she could not rebuke. Thus, he
was more or less a fragment of her thoughts, day after day. Ah, that
mad folly, that indescribable impulse, which had brought her to New
France instead of Spain! Eh well, the blood of the De Rohans and De
Montbazons was in her veins, and the cool of philosophy was never
plentiful in that blood. She was to learn something to-night, if only
the purpose of this man who loved and spoke not.
"In here, Madame," said the vicomte, courteously, "if you will do me
that honor."
A glance told madame that she had been in this room before. Did they
burn candles every night in here, or had the vicomte, relying upon a
woman's innate curiosity, lighted these candles himself? Her gaze,
traveling along the oak table, discovered a few particles of burnt
paper. Her face grew warm.
The vicomte closed the door gently, leaving the key in the lock. She
followed, each movement with eyes as keen and wary as a cat's. He drew
out a chair, walked around the table and selected another chair.
"Will you not sit down, Madame?"
"I prefer to stand, Monsieur.
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