mentary resignation.
Moreover, he had already thought, in spite of the vehemence of his
anger, that it was scarcely prudent to compromise himself with the law
by killing this girl on the spur of the moment, before he had arranged
the murder in such a manner as should insure his impunity.

"My beloved," went on Paquita, "speak to me; do not leave me without one
loving farewell! I would not keep in my heart the terror which you have
just inspired in it.... Will you speak?" she said, stamping her foot
with anger.

De Marsay, for all reply, gave her a glance, which signified so plainly,
"_You must die!_" that Paquita threw herself upon him.

"Ah, well, you want to kill me!... If my death can give you any
pleasure--kill me!"

She made a sign to Cristemio, who withdrew his foot from the body of the
young man, and retired without letting his face show that he had formed
any opinion, good or bad, with regard to Paquita.

"That is a man," said De Marsay, pointing to the mulatto, with a
sombre gesture. "There is no devotion like the devotion which obeys in
friendship, and does not stop to weigh motives. In that man you possess
a true friend."

"I will give him you, if you like," she answered; "he will serve you
with the same devotion that he has for me, if I so instruct him."

She waited for a word of recognition, and went on with an accent replete
with tenderness:

"Adolphe, give me then one kind word!... It is nearly day."

Henri did not answer. The young man had one sorry quality, for one
considers as something great everything which resembles strength, and
often men invent extravagances. Henri knew not how to pardon. That
_returning upon itself_ which is one of the soul's graces, was a
non-existent sense for him. The ferocity of the Northern man, with which
the English blood is deeply tainted, had been transmitted to him by his
father. He was inexorable both in his good and evil impulses. Paquita's
exclamation had been all the more horrible to him, in that it had
dethroned him from the sweetest triumph which had ever flattered his
man's vanity. Hope, love, and every emotion had been exalted with him,
all had lit up within his heart and his intelligence, then these torches
illuminating his life had been extinguished by a cold wind. Paquita, in
her stupefaction of grief, had only strength enough to give the signal
for departure.

"What is the use of that!" she said, throwing away the bandage. "If he
does not love m