How long he stood there, with his
gaze fixed upon the vacant doorway, he never knew. What did she mean?
"Well, Paul?" And Victor, having come up behind, laid his hand on the
Chevalier's arm. "Do you know her, then?" nodding toward the door.
"Know her?" The Chevalier faced his comrade. "Would to God, lad, I
did not, for she has made me the most unhappy of men."
The poet trembled in terror at the light within. "She is . . . ?"
"Yes, Diane; Diane, whose name I murmur in my dreams, waking or
sleeping."
"She?" in half a whisper. "Her name?"
"Her name? No! I know her as a mystery; as Tantalus thirsting for the
fruit which hangs ever beyond the reach, I know her; as a woman who is
not what she seems, always masked, with or without the cambric. Know
her?" with a laugh full of despair.
Victor was a man of courage and resource. "I know where there's a
two-quart bottle of burgundy, Paul. Bah! life will look cheerful
enough through that mellow red. Come with me."
The Chevalier followed him to the lower town, where, in a room in one
of the warehouses, they sat down to the wine.
"Let the women go hang, lad, one and all!" cried the Chevalier, after
his sixth and final glass.
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