CHAPTER VIII
In the library of the villa, Le Breton sat alone. The hour was late, getting on to midnight. He was stretched in a deep chair smoking, his gaze fixed on a desk close by, on which was a wide, shallow, crystal bowl full of water where half a dozen purple pansies floated.
As he sat there indulging in some dream of his own, a door opened and he looked round sharply, by no means pleased at being roused from his reverie. The room was his special sanctum; no one was supposed to enter without his permission.
In the doorway Lucille stood, in a foamy white dressing-gown, her wealth of red hair in two thick ropes down her back.
On seeing her, a look of suppressed annoyance crossed his face.
"What is it?" he asked in a none too cordial tone.
She crossed to his side, and stood looking down at him anxiously.
"What has happened to you the last two days?" she asked.
"Happened to me! What do you mean?"
"You've been so very indifferent."
"Was I ever particularly effusive?"
She laid her hand on his sleeve with a lingering, caressing touch.
"I see nothing of you now except at meals," she said.
With an impatient gesture he drew his arm away.
"I'm not always in the mood for women," he said coldly.
"Perhaps it would be nearer the truth if you said some other woman has taken your fancy," she suggested.
There was no reply.
Le Breton got to his feet and crossed to the desk, standing there with his back to her as if he resented her presence.
It was most obvious to Lucille that she was not welcome.
"What is this new fancy of yours like?" she asked in a hurt, jealous tone.
He made no answer, but his very back oozed annoyance.
"What's her price, Raoul?" she asked in a wild manner. "Is it emeralds or pearls or diamonds? Or is she one whose price is above rubies?"
He faced round suddenly, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Be quiet, woman!" he said savagely.
She laughed hysterically.
"So she's something too good for me to talk about, is she? Does she know of all your gay doings in Paris?"
"Oh, you women!" he ejaculated contemptuously. "Can you never learn the virtue of silence?"
In an angry manner he went from the room, leaving Lucille in possession. She watched him until the door closed. Then she sank down into the chair he had vacated and stayed there with bowed head, weeping bitterly.