“You think I was concerned in the plot which brought about the rupture, do you not?”
“Rupture!” said he, with bitterness. “Oh! mademoiselle, there can be no rupture where there has been no love.”
“You are in error,” replied Montalais; “Louise did love you.”
Raoul started.
“Not with love, I know; but she liked you, and you ought to have married her before you set out for London.”
Raoul broke into a sinister laugh, which made Montalais shudder.
“You tell me that very much at your ease, mademoiselle. Do people marry whom they like? You forget that the king then kept for himself as his mistress her of whom we are speaking.”
“Listen,” said the young woman, pressing the hands of Raoul in her own, “you were wrong in every way; a man of your age ought never to leave a woman of hers alone.”
“There is no longer any faith in the world, then,” said Raoul.
“No, vicomte,” said Montalais, quietly. “Nevertheless, let me tell you that, if, instead of loving Louise coldly and philosophically, you had endeavored to awaken her to love—”