III
Rodvard came in late, and had had no supper save some bread and cheese caught at an inn with the two people’s guards who accompanied him, Demadé Slair having left long before. Lalette was arranging her hair before the mirror, with a candle on either side, and did not turn round. (At the sight of her lifted graceful arms, a wave of tenderness swept over him.) “Lalette,” he said, almost lilting the word.
“Good evening.” She still did not turn, and the voice was formal.
He hurried across the room in long steps and turned her around. “What has happened?”
There was an impatient movement. “Don’t. You will spoil my hair. Nothing.”
“Lalette, there is something. Tell me.”
She kept her eyes away from him. “Nothing,” and then, as he merely stood, waiting in burning intensity; “A small thing, truly. You need not be troubled. Only I know now who it was you were unfaithful to me with.”
(He was hot and cold together.) “Who says I was unfaithful?”
“‘Will you come with me now?’” she quoted. “Rodvard, you may be able to read some of my thoughts, but do not forget why. Is she a witch, too? She must be, or my Blue Star that I lent you would be dead. Or did she give you another before you shared her with Count Cleudi?” (She wanted to hurt him as she had been hurt, to make him regret and feel that no regret in any fashion could replace what had been lost.)
“Shared her with Count Cleudi?” (He could feel honest indignation now.) “Lalette, who are you talking about?”