A fierce frown contracted his brow, he gnawed his under lip
savagely, and his whole face was transformed--if it had been beautiful
enough for an angel's before, it was like a demon's now.
"Why don't you tell the truth," he cried, in a loud, angry voice, "and
say that you are madly in love with that precious rascal, de Sigognac?
THAT is the real reason for all this pretended virtue that you
shamelessly flaunt in men's faces. What is there about that cursed
scoundrel, I should like to know, that charms you so? Am I not
handsomer, of higher rank, younger, richer, as clever, and as much in
love with you as he can possibly be? aye, and more--ten thousand times
more."
"He has at least one quality that you are lacking in, my lord," said
Isabelle, with dignity; "he knows how to respect the woman he loves."
"That's only because he cares so little about you, my charmer!" cried
Vallombreuse, suddenly seizing Isabelle, who vainly strove to
escape from him, in his arms, and straining her violently to his
breast--despite her frantic struggles, and agonized cry for help. As if
in response to it, the door was suddenly opened, and the tyrant, making
the most deprecating gestures and profound bows, entered the room and
advanced towards Isabelle, who was at once released by Vallombreuse,
with muttered curses at this most inopportune intrusion.
Pages:
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437