Meanwhile, when Nathalie opened her eyes she saw no one at first, for Claire was kneeling behind. She had one minute of wondering reprieve before intolerable pain, rushed into possession. Words, looks, confronted her again; she moaned once, and then called upon her ebbing strength to meet its foes gallantly. Raising herself on an elbow, and pushing the hair back from her forehead with her other hand, a sound made her glance round, and she met Claire’s gaze. The two women eyed each other silently. Claire was the first to say, briefly:
“You know?”
“Yes, I know.”
They were mute again, each reflecting.
“And you fainted?” Mlle. de Beaudrillart uttered the words like a judge. Nathalie simply answered:
“I shall not do it again.”
Their words were few, like the first feints of fencers. Both rose and stood upright, and Claire felt a momentary vexation that Nathalie was the taller. She said, presently:
“There is no use in our talking. I shall never forgive Léon; but perhaps something can be arranged to hush it up, and prevent the disgrace becoming public. Whatever that costs, it must be done. I suppose money is always a strong weapon, and I imagine, under these circumstances, you cannot object to its being paid?”
To the tone Nathalie was indifferent to the point of unconsciousness. But to the suggestion she replied: “I should object with all my might. Forgive me if I oppose you.”
Claire flung out the taunt: “The sacrifice is too great?”