No doubt the charm was broken when, after the few words uttered by his companions, his countenance and manner changed, and he had the audacity to press his lips to hers. The features of the stranger, that a moment before possessed a beauty so pure, and an amiability so lovely, seemed suddenly to disappear under the mask of an insolent libertine.
Since that day, Erebus appeared to her always under these two different physiognomies.
Sometimes she tried to banish from her memory all thought of an audacious stranger, who had insolently robbed her of what she would have given to her father’s saviour with reluctance. Again, she would dream, with a deep sentiment of gratitude, that her father owed his life to this same stranger who at first seemed so courageous and so timid.
Unhappily for Reine’s repose of mind, Erebus united and justified, so to speak, these two distinct natures, and in her thought she gave him sometimes her admiration, and sometimes her contempt.
So she wavered between these two sentiments.
Thus the natural exaggeration of her character, rather suppressed than destroyed, was excited by this singular adventure.
The unknown one seemed to her the genius of good and the genius of evil.
Involuntarily, her excitable mind tried to penetrate the secret of this double power.
Reine herself was made aware of her morbid mental condition only by the tender reproaches of Honorât, who accused her of distraction. For the first time, then, Reine realised with horror the empire that the unknown person had gained over her mind; she resolved to escape from it, but the resistance with which she endeavoured to drive Erebus from her mind, only made her think of him the more.
In her vexation she shed bitter tears, and sought refuge and diversion in the calm and wise conversation of Honorât.