"Yes, old friends," he rejoined quietly. "We were children together, Lydie."
"Much has occurred since then, Monsieur le Comte."
"Only one great and awful fault, which meseems hath been its own expiation."
"Need we refer to that now?" she asked calmly.
"Indeed, indeed, we must," he replied earnestly. "Lydie, am I never to be forgiven?"
"Is there aught for me to forgive?"
"Yes. An error, a grave error . . . a fault, if you will call it so . . ."
"I prefer to call it a treachery," she said.
"Without one word of explanation, without listening to a single word from me. Is that just?"
"There is nothing that you could say now, Monsieur le Comte, that I should have the right to hear."