mbered suddenly and overwhelmingly that the duel had been fought on
her account, because of some evil word which this man had spoken of her
in Bertrand's hearing. She could well believe it of him--the sneering
laugh, the light allusion, the hateful insinuation underlying it. She
was beginning to look upon the evil of the world with comprehending
eyes--she, Chris, the gay of heart, the happy bird of Bertrand's paradise
whom no evil had ever touched. And though she shrank from it as one
dreading pollution, she dared not turn her back.

He went on with more daring mockery, still with lips that smiled. "Ah! I
see you remember. That duel was an affair of interest to you, _hein_? You
were--the woman in the case."

He leered at her intolerably, twisting his moustache.

But that was more than Chris could endure. He had taken her by surprise
indeed, but he should not see her routed thus easily. She lifted her
dainty head and confronted him with pride.

"Whatever the cause of the duel," she said very distinctly, "it was no
concern of mine, and it was by the merest accident that I witnessed it.
But in any case it is not a matter of sufficient importance to discuss
now. Shall we go on?"

She put the question abruptly, with a little inward tremor, for the path
was narrow and he had come to a stand immediately in front of her. He
made a slight movement as if deprecating the obligation to detain her.
His eyes were suddenly very evil and so intent that she could not avoid
them. Yet still he smiled as though the situation amused him.

"But you joke!" he protested, with a snap of the fingers. "I did not
suggest that it could be a matter of importance. It was all a
_bagatelle_, a fairy-tale, that should not have had so serious an end.
And your husband--he has heard the fairy-tale also? Or was it not of
sufficient importance to recount to him?"

She would have turned from him at that, even though it had meant
ignominious flight, but his eyes held her, and she dared not. She could
only stand motionless, feeling her very heart grow cold.

Softly, jeeringly, he went on, still toying with the moustache that did
not hide his smiling lips. "You have not told him yet? Ah! but it would
amuse him. That night you passed with the fairies, a siren among the
sirens, has he never heard of that? But you should tell him that! Or was
it perhaps only a joke _a deux_, and not _a trois_? I have heard that the
English husband can be strict, and you hav