"I am not so sure," she replied thoughtfully, though she seemed to relent a little at my vehemence; "women are capricious. You yourself have been complaining this morning of their caprice. And it might be that--I can imagine it--and for that very reason."
"Oh, compare us!" I cried. "Compare the painted figure there with me! You must see it is impossible."
She laid a hand upon each of my shoulders as I knelt, and bent over me, staring into my eyes.
"I have been told," said she, "that the lady was so dear to you that for her sake you fought and killed your rival in love."
"You have been told that?" I answered, in sheer incredulity; and then a flame of rage against my traducer kindling in my heart, I sprang to my feet.
"Who told you?"
"I may not disclose his name."
"But you shall," said I, stepping in front of her. "You shall tell me! He has lied to you foully, and you owe him therefore no consideration or respect. He has lied concerning me. I have a clear right to know his name, that I may convince you of the lie, and reckon with him for his slander. Confront us both, and yourself be present as the judge!"
Of a sudden she held out her hand to me.
"Your sincerity convinces me. I need no other proof, and I crave your pardon for my suspicion."