“Monsieur,” she said, pale and gasping, “do you think so ill of me then? Do I seem to you like—!” She turned away, her eyes dry and burning, her body trembling with shame.
“You are here alone with me at night,” he persisted. “It would not be easy to—”
“Death would be easy, Monsieur,” she said calmly and coldly. “My husband tried to kill you. You would do—ah, but let me pass!” she said, with a sudden fury. “You—if you were a million times richer, if you could ruin me for ever, do you think—”
“Hush, Madame,” he said, with a sudden change of voice and a manner all reverence. “I do not think. I spoke only to hear you speak in reply: only to know to the uttermost what you were. Madame,” he added, in a shaking voice, “I did not know that such a woman lived. Madame, I could have sworn there was none in the world.” Then in a quicker, huskier note he added: “Eighteen years ago a woman nearly spoiled my life. She was as beautiful as you, but her heart was tainted. Since then I have never believed in any woman—never till now. I have said that all were purchasable—at a price. I unsay that now. I have not believed in any one—”
“Oh, Monsieur!” she said, with a quick impulsive gesture towards him, and her face lighting with sympathy.
“I was struck too hard—”
She touched his arm and said gently: “Some are hurt in one way and some in another; all are hurt some time, but—”
“You shall have your way,” he interrupted, and moved apart.
“Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur, it is a noble act!—” she hurriedly rejoined, then with a sudden cry rushed towards him, for he was lighting the will at the flame of a candle near him.
“But no, no, no, you shall not do it,” she cried. “I only asked it for while he lives—ah!”