Slowly and sadly she went up the stairs, but even on the very threshold of the door the hope of finding the delightful Rara of former days stirred her heart. Alas, her hope was vain, she was greeted with bitter words:
“What do you come here for? You despise me like all the rest.”
She protested at such cruelty.
She did not despise him—on the contrary, her loving animal nature led her to admire him. She put her painted, yet youthful, lips to her lover’s mouth, and kissed him sobbingly; but, pushing her away, he began to pace furiously up and down the two blue-tapestried rooms.
Noiselessly she untied the little parcel of cakes she had brought with her, and said in a hopeless, toneless voice:
“Will you have a baba? It is kirsch, just as you like them,” and she handed him the cake between two dainty sugary fingers. But he refused to see or hear her, and continued his fierce, monotonous promenade.
Then, with tear-dimmed eyes and bosom that heaved with sighs, she lifted the thick black veil which, mask-like, covered the upper part of her face, and silently commenced to eat a chocolate éclair.
At last, however, not knowing what to do or to say, she took a jewel-case from her pocket, and, opening it, displayed for Rara the bishop’s ring which it contained, saying in a timid voice:
“Look at M. Guitrel’s ring. It is a pretty stone, isn’t it? It is an Hungarian amethyst. Do you think M. Guitrel will like it?”
“I don’t care a damn!”