The Chevalier saw that if he became serious, violent, or ill-tempered, he was lost. He pulled himself together. He smiled.
"Why are you not in Montreal? I understand Mademoiselle Catharine is there."
The Chevalier laughed. "You make me laugh, Diane."
"Why are you here in Quebec?"
"And you, Madame?"
"Perhaps I was seeking adventures."
"Well, perhaps I, too, came with that purpose. Come, Madame; neither of us is telling the truth."
"Begin, then, Monsieur; set an example for me."
The lines in his face deepened. All the pain of the tragedy came back.
"Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be disturbed!" He struggled and cast aside the gloom.
"I have been accused of conspiracy, Madame."
"Conspiring?"
"Yes; for my happiness."
Madame was plainly disappointed.
"I was exiled from court upon a grave accusation."
"You were recalled, and all your honors restored."
"Since you know all, Madame, it is needless to explain. What most concerns me this morning is your belief that I love you."
"Listen: there"s the oriole."
"How about Madame Oriole; does she regret the lover of last year?"
"Very good, Monsieur. You are daily recovering your wit. And you used to be very witty when you were not making extravagant love."
"A man does not weep when he loves and the object of his love simulates kindness."
"I should like to test this love," reflectively.
"Test it, Diane; only test it!" He was all eagerness. He flung his hat to the ground, and with his arm along the back of the seat he leaned toward her. The heron feather remained unharmed; it was a prophetic sign, only he did not realize it. He could realize nothing save that the glorious beauty of her face was near, and that to-day there was nothing else in the world. He was young, and youth forgets overnight.
Madame, with the knuckle of a finger against her lips, posed as if ruminating, when in truth she was turning over in her mind the advisability of telling him all, laughing, and leaving him. And suddenly she grew afraid. What would he do? for there was some latent power in this man she hesitated to rouse. She hesitated, and the opportunity was gone. For her thought swerved to this: if only he had not such handsome eyes! She dropped her hand.
"I will test this love," she said, with malice bubbling in her own lovely orbs. "The Comte d"Herouville has grievously offended me. Will you challenge him?" She meant nothing by this, save to gain time.
The Chevalier paled, recalling D"Herouville"s threats. "He departs the scene;" but the smile was on his lips alone.
"Then, there is the Vicomte d"Halluys; he, too, has offended me."
"The vicomte?" Challenge the vicomte, who had put D"Herouville in the hospital that night of the fatal supper?
"Ah!" said madame; "you hesitate! And yet you ask me to put you to the test!"
"I was weighing the matter of preference," with a wave of the hand; "whether to challenge the vicomte first, or D"Herouville. Give me the rest of the list."
"Monsieur, I admire the facility with which you adapt yourself to circ.u.mstances," scornfully. "You knew that I was but playing. I am fully capable of repaying any insolence offered to me, whether from D"Herouville, the vicomte . . . or yourself."
"To love you, then, is insolence?"
"Yes; the method which you use is insolent."
"Is there any way to prove that I love you?" admirably hiding his despair.
"What! Monsieur, you go a-courting without buckles on your shoes?"
"Diane, let us play at cross-purposes no longer. You may laugh, thrust, scorn, trample, it will in no wise effect the constancy of my love. I do not ask you to set tasks for me. Now, hark to me: where you go henceforth, there shall I go also, to France, to Spain, to the ends of the world. You will never be so far away from the sound of my voice that you can not hear me say that I love you."
"That is persecution!"
"It is love. I shall master you some day," recovering his hat and standing, "be that day near or far. I am a man, a man of heart and courage. You need no proof of that. I have bent my knee to you for the last time but once. I shall no more entreat," holding his head high.
"Truly, Monsieur!" her wrath running over.
"Wait! You have forced me, for some purpose unknown, to love you.
Well, I will force you to love me, though G.o.d alone knows how."
"You do well to add that clause," hotly. "Your imagination is too large. Force me to love you?" She laughed shrilly.
But his eye was steady, even though his broad chest swelled.
"You have asked me who I am," she cried. "Then, listen: I am . . . ."
His face was without eagerness. It was firm.
"I am . . ." she began again.
"The woman I love, the woman who shall some day be my wife."
"Must I call you a coward, Monsieur?" blazing.
"I held you in my arms the other night; you will recollect that I had the courage to release you."
Madame saw that she had lost the encounter, for the simple reason that the right was all on his side, the wrong and injustice on hers.
Instinctively she felt that if she told him all he in his gathering coolness would accept it as an artifice, an untruth. Her handkerchief, which she had nervously rolled into a ball, fell to the walk. He picked it up, but to the outstretched hand he shook his head.