Armand suddenly flung the tortured branch of lilac into the fire. "For the last time, Horatia, will you believe me?" he said with passion. "I have given you my word of honour; do you expect me to beg your forgiveness for a fault which I have not committed? I have been patient, for you have been very ill—you are ill now, or you would not create this causeless and ridiculous situation."
"O, do not delude yourself with that idea," returned his wife. "I am quite well now, and I know what I am saying, and I mean it. I have not been near death without learning many things. I am sorry if the situation seems to you ridiculous; to me it is more than that. I do not want you to speak any more about forgiveness. I can never believe you, and that is the end of the matter."
Armand was whiter even than she. But the armour of weakness and weariness which, unrealising, she wore, was potent. He controlled himself with obvious difficulty.
"That is your last word, Horatia?"
"Yes, I think so," said she wearily. "Would you mind going now, and telling Martha to come to me."
"Soit!" said the Comte between his teeth, and walked to the door.
"There is one thing more," said the tired, even voice. "Would you be so good as to explain matters to Madame de Vigerie. She has called twice to see me. Naturally I shall not receive her, and I have not yet learned how to lie."
It is enormously to Armand's credit that he did not bang the door.
(3)
As soon as her husband's footsteps had died away Horatia got up rather unsteadily from her chair and turned the key in the lock. Somehow or other victory had intensified rather than relieved the misery of life. She had got what she wanted, and she was frightened at her own success. She was not accustomed to compromise with her conscience, and she had an uneasy feeling that she was not acting quite rightly—and yet how otherwise could she go on living in the same house with Armand? He ought to be thankful that she had not insisted on returning to her father. Now, of course, he would go at once to that woman!