"
The Marquis' face flamed scarlet. He rose. Knowing his violent,
intolerant spirit, M. de Sautron was prepared for an outburst. But
no outburst came. The Marquis turned away from him, and paced
slowly to the window, his head bowed, his hands behind his back.
Halted there he spoke, without turning, his voice was at once
scornful and wistful.
"You are right, Charles, I am a fool - a wicked fool! I have just
enough sense left to perceive it. It is the way I have lived, I
suppose. I have never known the need to deny myself anything I
wanted." Then suddenly he swung round, and the outburst came.
"But, my God, I want Aline as I have never wanted anything yet! I
think I should kill myself in rage if through my folly I should
have lost her." He struck his brow with his hand. "I am a beast!"
he said. "I should have known that if that sweet saint got word of
these petty devilries of mine she would despise me; and I tell you,
Charles, I'd go through fire to regain her respect."
"I hope it is to be regained on easier terms," said Charles; and
then to ease the situation which began to irk him by its solemnity,
he made a feeble joke.
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