Her persecutor had turned from her; apparently he could control himself no longer. Taking a stone, he threw it far out into the sea: it was the angry gesture of a child whose will has been crossed. He walked a few steps along the path that skirted the cliff, but it seemed as if he could not go finally. He went back to where he had left her sitting mute and helpless.
"I thought you had gone," she said, flashing up at him a glance that was not pleasant to meet.
He looked down upon her with apparent calmness, though all his pulses were quivering with rage and disappointment: "I have not much more to say, ma belle, for I fear you are in earnest this time. What a fool I was to imagine for one moment that you possessed a heart! Go your own way, then; starve yourself of all happiness, die, for the sake of your husband, the man who has cast you off. But—you remember the old days; I was always something of a prophet, and my predictions came to pass—I tell you this: a trouble—one I could have averted—is hanging over you still. You shake your head, you have suffered to the extent of suffering. Bah! in all hearts there is one assailable point. You are not superhuman, ma reine. It is possible that your husband, the man who loved you once, may be nearer than you dream, and thinking other thoughts than yours."
What could he mean? Margaret looked up wildly, for he was turning from her to the winding path that led down the sand-cliff to the sea. "Stay, stay!" she cried.
He looked round at her. "Madam," he said politely, with the bow of a courtier, "it is my turn to be obdurate. I would fain obey you—I cannot: your refusal of all friendly offices has sealed my lips, and time presses. Farewell! The humblest of all your devotees kisses your hands and wishes you joy."