"Mademoiselle, my homage," he murmured, and turned to go.
"But you have not answered me!" she called after him in terror.
He checked on the threshold, and turned; and there from the cool
gloom of the hall she saw him a black, graceful silhouette against
the brilliant sunshine beyond - a memory of him that was to cling
as something sinister and menacing in the dread hours that were
to follow.
"What would you, mademoiselle? I but spared myself and you the
pain of a refusal."
He was gone leaving her crushed and raging. She sank down again
into the great red chair, and sat there crumpled, her elbows on
the table, her face in her hands - a face that was on fire with
shame and passion. She had offered herself, and she had been
refused! The inconceivable had befallen her. The humiliation of
it seemed to her something that could never be effaced.
Startled, appalled, she stepped back, her hand pressed to her
tortured breast.
CHAPTER X
THE RETURNING CARRIAGE
M. de Kercadiou wrote a letter.
"Godson," he began, without any softening adjective, "I have learnt
with pain and indignation that you have dishonoured yourself again
by breaking the pledge you gave me to abstain from politics.
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