"That would be very bad for him for I am conspiring for his benefit."
"In that case, madame, I am entirely your man."
"Are you able to keep a secret?" she asked with gravity.
"I think so."
They had withdrawn into the window recess, and could see the gardens, as they conversed. The light fell on her through the Valenciennes curtain and at her back was a sombre tapestry. Her late trial gave her an exhausted air which seemed the additional gloss with which melancholy makes a woman more fascinating in the sentimental eyes of youth.
"I dare say you can keep your own," she pointedly said.
"Not so well, I fear, as another's."
"You must give me your word of honor that if my plot does not please you, nobody shall be told?"
"I give you my promise," he said freely, just as he would have given her anything she asked for.
He had debated with his passion, uttered every reason of others and all he could devise, overwhelmed himself with good advice and created a Chinese Wall of obstacles, but he heard himself murmuring: "I love her!" The only way, he feared, to put an end to his wicked craze was to put an end to his life—an irreputable argument, but to be used moderately. She allowed him to quiver under her lingering gaze, and finally said: