"Allow me," said Gerald, interrupting M. Bouffard. Then, turning to Herminie, he continued, with a charming mixture of frankness and deference:
"I may as well confess that it is not a favour I have come to ask, but forgiveness."
"Of me, monsieur—and why?" asked Herminie, ingenuously.
"My dear mademoiselle," said M. Bouffard, with a meaning gesture, "this is the young man who paid me that money, you know. I met him just now, and—"
"It was you, monsieur?" cried Herminie, superb in her indignation. And looking Gerald full in the face, she repeated, witheringly:
"It was you?"
"Yes, mademoiselle, but listen, I beg of you."
"Enough, monsieur, enough!" said Herminie. "Such audacity seems inconceivable! You have at least the courage to insult, monsieur," added Herminie, with crushing contempt.
"But, mademoiselle, do not suppose for one moment—" pleaded Gerald.
"Monsieur," said the young girl, again interrupting him, but in a voice that trembled violently, for she could feel tears of grief and humiliation rising to her eyes, "I can only beg that you will leave my house. I am a woman,—and I am alone."