“He must have been very dear to you.”
“I never saw him.”
“What!” Felice Valleau leaned nearer. “Then it was for a woman you did it. Who is she? Tell me. Who is she?”
“Her name is Alaine Hervieu,” Pierre answered in response to an irresistible impulse.
“Alaine Hervieu!” Felice screamed. Then a little light laugh rippled from her red lips. “Very well, then, you have come to the right place. I can find him for you. But first—— No, no,” as Pierre’s eager questions leaped to his lips. “No, not yet. Do you love this Alaine Hervieu madly? Would life be a blank without her?”
Pierre was silent.
“Does she love you?”
“I do not know. I did not demand that she should tell me. She made no promise. I would not allow that, but it was that if her father desired, she would marry me when I returned with him.”
Madame laughed again, and then leaned forward, her chin resting in one dainty palm, her soft round arm almost touching Pierre as he sat by her side. After a silence she looked at him with alluring, velvety eyes. “She does not love you. No, she does not. She would never have allowed you to leave her if she had. She would have flung herself into your arms and have implored you to stay. No, no.”
“She did beg me not.”