Mademoiselle de
Verneuil still tormented him; her eyes, so soft and velvety for the
count, were hard and stern when, as if by accident, they met his.
Montauran at last made a painful effort and said, in a muffled voice,
"Will you never forgive me?"
"Love forgives nothing, or it forgives all," she said, coldly. "But,"
she added, noticing his joyful look, "it must be love."
She took the count's arm once more and moved forward into a small
boudoir which adjoined the cardroom. The marquis followed her.
"Will you not hear me?" he said.
"One would really think, monsieur," she replied, "that I had come here
to meet you, and not to vindicate my own self-respect. If you do not
cease this odious pursuit I shall leave the ballroom."
"Ah!" he cried, recollecting one of the crazy actions of the last Duc
de Lorraine, "let me speak to you so long as I can hold this live coal
in my hand."
He stooped to the hearth and picking up a brand held it tightly.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil flushed, took her arm from that of the count,
and looked at the marquis in amazement. The count softly withdrew,
leaving them alone together. So crazy an action shook Marie's heart,
for there is nothing so persuasive in love as courageous folly.
"You only prove to me," she said, trying to make him throw away the
brand, "that you are willing to make me suffer cruelly.
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