d with pity and fright in her soul.

He said:

"I forgive you and forget everything. Take me back. I will promise never
to say a word of the past."

She shuddered, and made a movement of surprise and distaste so natural
that he stopped. Then, after a moment of reflection:

"My proposition to you is not an ordinary one, I know it well. But I
have reflected. I have thought of everything. It is the only possible
thing. Think of it, Therese, and do not reply at once."

"It would be wrong to deceive you. I can not, I will not do what you
say; and you know the reason why."

A cab was passing slowly near them. She made a sign to the coachman to
stop. Le Menil kept her a moment longer.

"I knew you would say this to me, and that is the reason why I say to
you, do not reply at once."

Her fingers on the handle of the door, she turned on him the glance of
her gray eyes.

It was a painful moment for him. He recalled the time when he saw those
charming gray eyes gleam under half-closed lids. He smothered a sob, and
murmured:

"Listen; I can not live without you. I love you. It is now that I love
you. Formerly I did not know."

And while she gave to the coachman, haphazard, the address of a tailor,
Le Menil went away.

The meeting gave her much uneasiness and anxiety. Since she was forced
to meet him again, she would have preferred to see him violent and
brutal, as he had been at Florence. At the corner of the avenue she said
to the coachman:

"To the Ternes."

CHAPTER XXXII. THE RED LILY

It was Friday, at the opera. The curtain had fallen on Faust's
laboratory. From the orchestra, opera-glasses were raised in a surveying
of the gold and purple theatre. The sombre drapery of the boxes framed
the dazzling heads and bare shoulders of women. The amphitheatre bent
above the parquette its garland of diamonds, hair, gauze, and satin. In
the proscenium boxes were the wife of the Austrian Ambassador and the
Duchess Gladwin; in the amphitheatre Berthe d'Osigny and Jane Tulle, the
latter made famous the day before by the suicide of one of her lovers;
in the boxes, Madame Berard de La Malle, her eyes lowered, her long
eyelashes shading her pure cheeks; Princess Seniavine, who, looking
superb, concealed under her fan panther--like yawnings; Madame de
Morlaine, between two young women whom she was training in the elegances
of the mind; Madame Meillan, resting assured on thirty years of
sovereign beauty; Madame Berthie