know it is, I know it is,' he rejoined with some fervour. 'You have
served me, and made me miserable for life, and rightly. Never mind, all's
well while the hand's to the axe.' Beauchamp smoothed his forehead
roughly, trying hard to inspire himself with the tonic draughts of
sentiments cast in the form of proverbs. 'Lord Romfrey saw her, you say?'

'He did, Nevil, and admired her.'

'Well, if I suffer, let me think of her! For courage and nobleness I
shall never find her equal. Have you changed your ideas of Frenchwomen
now? Not a word, you say, not a look, to show her disdain of me whenever
my name was mentioned!'

'She could scarcely feel disdain. She was guilty of a sad error.'

'Through trusting in me. Will nothing teach you where the fault lies? You
women have no mercy for women. She went through the parade to Romfrey
Castle and back, and she must have been perishing at heart. That, you
English call acting. In history you have a respect for such acting up to
the scaffold. Good-bye to her! There's a story ended. One thing you must
promise: you're a peeress, ma'am: the story's out, everybody has heard of
it; that babbler has done his worst: if you have a becoming appreciation
of your title, you will promise me honestly--no, give me your word as a
woman I can esteem--that you will not run about excusing me. Whatever you
hear said or suggested, say nothing yourself. I insist on your keeping
silence. Press my hand.'

'Nevil, how foolish!'

'It's my will.'

'It is unreasonable. You give your enemies licence.'

'I know what's in your head. Take my hand, and let me have your word for
it.'

'But if persons you like very much, Nevil, should hear?'

'Promise. You are a woman not to break your word.'

'If I decline?'

'Your hand! I'll kiss it.'

'Oh! my darling.' Rosamund flung her arms round him and strained him an
instant to her bosom. 'What have I but you in the world? My comfort was
the hope that I might serve you.'

'Yes! by slaying one woman as an offering to another. It would be
impossible for you to speak the truth. Don't you see, it would be a lie
against her, and making a figure of me that a man would rather drop to
the ground than have shown of him? I was to blame, and only I. Madame de
Rouaillout was as utterly deceived by me as ever a trusting woman by a
brute. I look at myself and hardly believe it 's the same man. I wrote to
her that I was unchanged--and I was entirely changed, another creature,