And never, for his sins, he told himself grimly, had she been more
beautiful. Her storm of tears had left her eyes unswollen, but shadowy
and unusually melting, while her face, as white as paper, was the face
of one who had been face to face with a horrible death.

"I beg your pardon for having been--rude," she said to him sulkily,
holding out her hand, which was as cold as ice.

"But it is I," he murmured, touching his lips to her fingers and feeling
her quiver as he did so. "It is that we both have what you English call
bad tempers, _pas_?"

"You must have been very bad this time, papa," commented Theo, closing
the cage door on le Conquerant and joining them. "Brigit is very angry.
Look at her!"

"I am not angry, Theo. But--quarrelling is disgusting."

Why she had stayed the girl hardly knew. She had not forgiven Joyselle,
and her apology was a mere concession to the feelings of Felicite and
Theo.

Joyselle had hurt her, but her treatment of him had so wounded herself
that she could not forgive him. All of which is quite illogical and
quite feminine.

"I will go away--anywhere--to-morrow," she told herself as she ate her
supper. "Theo will not know why, and Felicite will not tell. This sort
of thing cannot go on. This is the fifth row in the last month. We are
both too pig-headed. It's no use trying to keep the peace. I suppose if
I were his mistress he would be easier to manage--or I should. The truth
is, we are both struggling for supremacy, and we can neither of us drive
the other."

Joyselle, with a great effort, chattered gaily throughout the meal. His
thoughts, too, were in a turmoil, for he knew that her apology had been
offered merely on Theo's account, and he also knew that something was
going to happen.

Felicite, sincerely sorry for Brigit and anxious anent Theo, talked more
than usual, so that the uncongenial gathering was more voluble and noisy
than usual.

At its close Felicite called her son to her room under some pretext or
other, and Joyselle and Brigit went alone to his study. He closed the
door very quietly, and then turning to her, caught her hands
threateningly.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Do?" She raised her eyebrows. "I am going, of course."

"Where?"

She smiled.

"_Sais pas._ Let go my hands, please; you hurt me--Beau-papa!"

He flung away from her and stood by the window, staring with blinded
eyes into the street.

"This is really no good, you know," s