"
"I will go to Mademoiselle de Vaudemont, who is within the convent."
Madame rose quietly, her eyes averted. She would gladly have flown,
but that would have been undignified, the acknowledgment of defeat.
And just now she knew that she could not match this mood of his.
Gently he caught her hand and drew her back to the seat.
"Pardon, but I can not lose you so soon. Mademoiselle is doubtless at
prayer and may not be interrupted. I have so many questions to ask."
Madame was pale, but her eyes were glowing. She folded her hands with
a passiveness which boded future ill.
"When you said that you trapped me that night at the Palais Royal,
simply to take a feather from my plume, you did not mean that. You had
some deeper motive."
Madame's fingers locked and unlocked. "Monsieur . . . !" she began,
"Why, it seems only yesterday that it was 'Paul'," he interrupted.
"Monsieur, I beg of you to let me go. You are emulating Monsieur
d'Herouville, and that conduct is beneath you."
"But will you listen to what I have to say?"
"I will listen," with a dangerous quiet. "Go on, Monsieur; tell me how
much you love me this day.
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