The boy turned to follow his companions, and felt his heart break within him as he went downstairs. While they passed through the blue-room, the Doctor again leant in affectionate pressure upon his shoulder.
‘Courage, Anatole. No woman is worth a pang.’
‘Ah, Monsieur le Docteur, you cannot think that of her. She is worth the best man could offer, and all he might suffer. You know it, Doctor. Deny if you admire her.’
‘I don’t deny it, if that will console you.’
‘And you can fling away such a chance,’ moaned Anatole.
‘I fling away nothing, for the simple reason, I have nothing to fling away. It is not chance any of us lack, chances of making fools of ourselves, of others. Chance, my friend, is generally another word for blunder. Some philosophers call the world chance, and is not that the biggest blunder of all?’
‘You mystify me, Vermont. I call perversity the worst of all blunders. And is it not perversity, if you love Mademoiselle Lenormant, to——’
‘Who says I love Mademoiselle Lenormant? I loved her sister, in a way, and she is dead. You’ll find your pistol all ready there on the bed. Put it into your pocket. It is half-past eleven. Tell the others I will join them instantly.’
Before crossing the passage to the other bedroom, Anatole stole softly upstairs, and knocked at the salon door. Mademoiselle Lenormant opened the door, and surveyed him in disapproving surprise.
‘In what way can I serve you, Monsieur?’ she asked. He slipped into the room under her arm. There was an empty chair near, and into it he dropped, glancing up at her prayerfully.