ou
see, was rising in the world.

As Climene now rose to withdraw for the night, Scaramouche rose with her
to light her candle. Holding it in her left hand, she offered him her
right, a long, tapering, white hand at the end of a softly rounded arm
that was bare to the elbow.

"Good-night, Scaramouche," she said, but so softly, so tenderly, that he
caught his breath, and stood conning her, his dark eyes aglow.

Thus a moment, then he took the tips of her fingers in his grasp, and
bowing over the hand, pressed his lips upon it. Then he looked at
her again. The intense femininity of her lured him on, invited him,
surrendered to him. Her face was pale, there was a glitter in her eyes,
a curious smile upon her parted lips, and under its fichu-menteur her
bosom rose and fell to complete the betrayal of her.

By the hand he continued to hold, he drew her towards him. She came
unresisting. He took the candle from her, and set it down on the
sideboard by which she stood. The next moment her slight, lithe body was
in his arms, and he was kissing her, murmuring her name as if it were a
prayer.

"Am I cruel now?" she asked him, panting. He kissed her again for only
answer. "You made me cruel because you would not see," she told him next
in a whisper.

And then the door opened, and M. Binet came in to have his paternal eyes
regaled by this highly indecorous behaviour of his daughter.

He stood at gaze, whilst they quite leisurely, and in a self-possession
too complete to be natural, detached each from the other.

"And what may be the meaning of this?" demanded M. Binet, bewildered and
profoundly shocked.

"Does it require explaining?" asked Scaramouche. "Doesn't it speak for
itself--eloquently? It means that Climene and I have taken it into our
heads to be married."

"And doesn't it matter what I may take into my head?"

"Of course. But you could have neither the bad taste nor the bad heart
to offer any obstacle."

"You take that for granted? Aye, that is your way, to be sure--to take
things for granted. But my daughter is not to be taken for granted.
I have very definite views for my daughter. You have done an unworthy
thing, Scaramouche. You have betrayed my trust in you. I am very angry
with you."

He rolled forward with his ponderous yet curiously noiseless gait.
Scaramouche turned to her, smiling, and handed her the candle.

"If you will leave us, Climene, I will ask your hand of your father in
proper form."