ous gesture; then, summoning a
smile to her pale lips, as if obeying, even yet, the woman's impulse to
be gracious:

"I have heard from M. de Champignelles of a message which you have
kindly undertaken to deliver, monsieur," she said. "Can it be from----"

With that terrible phrase Gaston understood, even more clearly than
before, his own ridiculous position, the bad taste and bad faith of his
behavior towards a woman so noble and so unfortunate. He reddened. The
thoughts that crowded in upon him could be read in his troubled eyes;
but suddenly, with the courage which youth draws from a sense of its own
wrongdoing, he gained confidence, and very humbly interrupted Mme. de
Beauseant.

"Madame," he faltered out, "I do not deserve the happiness of seeing
you. I have deceived you basely. However strong the motive may have
been, it can never excuse the pitiful subterfuge which I used to gain my
end. But, madame, if your goodness will permit me to tell you----"

The Vicomtesse glanced at M. de Nueil, haughty disdain in her whole
manner. She stretched her hand to the bell and rang it.

"Jacques," she said, "light this gentleman to the door," and she looked
with dignity at the visitor.

She rose proudly, bowed to Gaston, and then stooped for the fallen
volume. If all her movements on his entrance had been caressingly dainty
and gracious, her every gesture now was no less severely frigid. M. de
Nueil rose to his feet, but he stood waiting. Mme. de Beauseant flung
another glance at him. "Well, why do you not go?" she seemed to say.

There was such cutting irony in that glance that Gaston grew white as if
he were about to faint. Tears came into his eyes, but he would not let
them fall, and scorching shame and despair dried them. He looked back
at Madame de Beauseant, and a certain pride and consciousness of his
own worth was mingled with his humility; the Vicomtesse had a right to
punish him, but ought she to use her right? Then he went out.

As he crossed the ante-chamber, a clear head, and wits sharpened by
passion, were not slow to grasp the danger of his situation.

"If I leave this house, I can never come back to it again," he said
to himself. "The Vicomtesse will always think of me as a fool. It is
impossible that a woman, and such a woman, should not guess the
love that she has called forth. Perhaps she feels a little, vague,
involuntary regret for dismissing me so abruptly.--But she could not
do otherwise, and sh