“Well,” I said with a sigh of relief, “it appears to me then that I need think no more of Mlle. de Benseval. Let us dismiss her—there is another topic——”
“Wait,” she said; “I fear you will find yourself thinking a great deal about her before long. For after that one moment of utter joy she drew away from her lover, held him at a distance, was unkind to him, although all the while she was longing to throw herself on his bosom and draw his arms close about her!”
“What!” I said incredulously. “She did that? Was she mad, then?”
“No; she was a woman, and she played with him because that is woman’s nature.”
“Yet she knew he loved her!”
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes glowing more and more. “She knew he loved her, deeply and purely, as she could never hope to be loved again; but she resolved to put him to one supreme test. If he stood the test she would adore him, worship him, she would be his, body and soul, through all eternity. If he did not stand it—well, she would still love him!”
“And did he stand it?” I asked, moved more and more by this story, to which at first I had listened but indifferently.
“Let me finish, and you will see. She returned to her home, she opened her heart to her father, who is really the kindest and noblest of men, and he agreed to assist her in the test. So to-day—this evening——”
She faltered, stopped and looked at me, smiling tremulously, her cheeks flooded suddenly with color.
“Yes,” I cried; “this evening——”