But still Mistress Julia with persistence worthy a better cause refused to give up all hope.
"Tell me all about it, my lord," she said as quietly as she could. "It had been better had you spoken before."
"I have been a fool, Mistress," he replied dully, "yet more sinned against than sinning."
"You'll not tell me that you are actually married?" she insisted.
"Alas!"
"And did not tell me so," she retorted hotly, "but came here, courting me, speaking of love to me—of marriage—God help you! when the very word was a sacrilege since you were not free—Oh! the perfidy of it all!—and you speak of being more sinned against than sinning. 'Tis the pillory you deserve, my lord, for thus shaming a woman first and then breaking her heart."
She was quite sincere in her vehemence, for self-control had now quite deserted her, and the wrong and humiliation which she had been made to endure, rose up before her like cruel monsters that mocked and jeered at her annihilated hopes and her vanished dreams. Her voice rose in a crescendo of shrill tones, only to sink again under the strength of choking sobs. Despair, shame and bitter reproach rang through every word which she uttered.
"As you rightly say, Mistress," murmured the young man, "God help me!"
"But the details, man—the details—" she rejoined impatiently; "cannot you see that I am consumed with anxiety—the woman?—who is she?—"
"Her name is Rose Marie," he replied in the same dull, even tones, like a schoolboy reciting a lesson which he hath learned, but does not understand; "she is the daughter of a certain M. Legros, who is tailor to His Majesty the King of France."