. "Love, so the scribblers say, only feeds on illusions.
Nothing could be truer, I see; I am expected to imagine that I am loved.
But, there!--there are some thoughts like wounds, from which there is no
recovery. My belief in you was one of the last left to me, and now I see
that there is nothing left to believe in this earth."

She began to smile.

"Yes," Montriveau went on in an unsteady voice, "this Catholic faith to
which you wish to convert me is a lie that men make for themselves; hope
is a lie at the expense of the future; pride, a lie between us and our
fellows; and pity, and prudence, and terror are cunning lies. And now
my happiness is to be one more lying delusion; I am expected to delude
myself, to be willing to give gold coin for silver to the end. If you
can so easily dispense with my visits; if you can confess me neither
as your friend nor your lover, you do not care for me! And I, poor fool
that I am, tell myself this, and know it, and love you!"

"But, dear me, poor Armand, you are flying into a passion!"

"I flying into a passion?"

"Yes. You think that the whole question is opened because I ask you to
be careful."

In her heart of hearts she was delighted with the anger that leapt out
in her lover's eyes. Even as she tortured him, she was criticising
him, watching every slightest change that passed over his face. If
the General had been so unluckily inspired as to show himself generous
without discussion (as happens occasionally with some artless souls),
he would have been a banished man forever, accused and convicted of not
knowing how to love. Most women are not displeased to have their code of
right and wrong broken through. Do they not flatter themselves that they
never yield except to force? But Armand was not learned enough in this
kind of lore to see the snare ingeniously spread for him by the Duchess.
So much of the child was there in the strong man in love.

"If all you want is to preserve appearances," he began in his
simplicity, "I am willing to----"

"Simply to preserve appearances!" the lady broke in; "why, what idea can
you have of me? Have I given you the slightest reason to suppose that I
can be yours?"

"Why, what else are we talking about?" demanded Montriveau.

"Monsieur, you frighten me!... No, pardon me. Thank you," she added,
coldly; "thank you, Armand. You have given me timely warning of
imprudence; committed quite unconsciously, believe it, my friend. You
know how t