Rising from her seat, and no longer taking the trouble to deny, she said—
“And he will kill you! Wretched man, leave here at once, without a moment’s delay. You do not know what dangers you are running!”
“I know them quite well. General Trémont is dead, Laforêt, the police agent, is dead, and so, doubtless, are many others who have resisted your fancies or intrigues. And if I, too, do not yield, you will try to compass my death also. But, before that happens, I will know who and what you are.”
The woman’s countenance darkened. Raising her beautiful arm, she said in tragic tones—
“Do not attempt it! You will never succeed!”
“Still, I have made a beginning,” he said madly. “Spy—thief—actress; yes, actress even in love!”
She did not appear to have heard the other insults he hurled at her, but from this last one, she recoiled. Blushing, she seized Marcel by the arm, and fixed on him a pair of eyes which seemed to flame with passion.
“No! I have not lied! Don’t believe that of me! Do not accuse me of having been false in love. I did love you! Can you think otherwise? Accuse me of whatever you wish, it matters little to me! We shall never see one another again, you hear!—never see one another again in this world. Therefore, believe what I now swear to you: I loved you; I still love you! I have never loved any one as I have loved you, and that is why I shall never see you again. Do not attempt to understand or to fathom my secrets; they would cause your death. Content yourself with what you know of me, and with the fact that you have not paid for it with your life. Become blind when I pass by your side; deaf, whenever my name is mentioned. Do not enter the darkness in which I am shrouded. Oh! Marcel, my loved one, go away, do not suspect me of having lied to you. Clasped in your arms, your lips pressed against mine, I told the truth, I—”
She stopped. Tears shone in her eyes, and her beautiful arms are flung around Marcel’s neck. He felt himself pressed to her throbbing bosom, the fire of her eyes blinded him, and he shuddered at the contact of that ardent mouth pressed to his own in a delirium of delight. Amid her sighs, he heard the word “Adieu!” and found himself near the door. There, her embrace relaxed, and he stood dazed and maddened in the passage, amidst the spectators who were returning to their seats. Taking up his coat, and staggering along like a man intoxicated, he obeyed his mysterious love, and left the theatre.
He no longer doubted. That cry, “I love you still!” was sincere. She was not lying when she confessed her love. Besides, why had she driven him away from her, if not inspired by the passionate fright of the woman who trembles lest her loved one meet his death. Then it was some strange will, superior to her own, which had compelled her to fascinate him, and which was again controlling her in the performance of some dark, mysterious deed or other! That he was, and must remain, ignorant of.