She shook her head and turned with him. At their feet the snowdrops stood smiling and shivering behind little rows of box. "I have just come down from Fortuné's room, Monseigneur. He is no better, this morning—not so well, I think."
They took a turn in silence. "Forgive me if I am impertinent," said the Bishop, rather suddenly. "I have been wondering of late why your son has never married. How old is he—forty?"
Mme. de la Vireville shook her head with a sad little smile. "Only thirty-five, Monseigneur. As for his marrying, I have long greatly desired it, but he will not look at a woman. He has good reason, perhaps." She hesitated, then went on. "There was one, ten years ago . . . he loved her only too well. She too seemed to love him dearly, and became his affianced wife. On the very day before their marriage she fled from her home with another man, whom she had only known for a week or two. That man was Fortuné's intimate friend."
"And then?" asked the Bishop.
"Fortuné called him out—he could hardly do less. The scar which you may have remarked on his face, Monseigneur, is a memorial of their encounter. It is where his false friend's bullet wounded him—he can never look in a glass without seeing that reminder. They used pistols, not swords—I do not know why—and drew lots for the order of firing. And though my son, since he fired second, had this man who had so deeply injured him absolutely at his mercy, though he was half beside himself with grief and rage, he spared him, for her sake, and fired in the air."
"That was well done," said the Bishop.
Mme. de la Vireville laughed. "Was it not, Monseigneur! It was not easily done, either, that I know. Can you guess what Fortuné's reward was? After a year she left this man, to whom she was not wedded, and married another."
The Bishop looked very grave. "And your son, Madame, after so bitter a betrayal, has conceived a hatred of all women?"
"Hardly that, Monseigneur. It is more hopeless even than that—for such an aversion might change. No, I am almost sure that against his will he loves her still. That is the tragedy."
"She is still living—her husband also?"