"I hope," he
continued, in a tender, caressing voice, "that my wife will not long
refuse a glance to her loving husband."
Hearing the words she turned abruptly and looked into his eyes.
"What is the meaning of that dreadful look?" he said, laughing. "But
your hand is burning! oh, my love, what is it?"
"Your love!" she repeated, in a dull, changed voice.
"Yes," he said, throwing himself on his knees beside her and taking
her two hands which he covered with kisses. "Yes, my love--I am thine
for life."
She pushed him violently away from her and rose. Her features
contracted, she laughed as mad people laugh, and then she said to him:
"You do not mean one word of all you are saying, base man--baser than
the lowest villain." She sprang to the dagger which was lying beside a
flower-vase, and let it sparkle before the eyes of the amazed young
marquis. "Bah!" she said, flinging it away from her, "I do not respect
you enough to kill you. Your blood is even too vile to be shed by
soldiers; I see nothing fit for you but the executioner."
The words were painfully uttered in a low voice, and she moved her
feet like a spoilt child, impatiently. The marquis went to her and
tried to clasp her.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, recoiling from him with a look of horror.
"She is mad!" said the marquis in despair.
"Mad, yes!" she repeated, "but not mad enough to be your dupe.
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