"Diane, can it be you?" he gasped, seeing that the beautiful vision did not vanish into thin air.
"Diane?" she repeated, moving toward the mantel. "No; not Diane. I am no longer the huntress; I flee. Call me Daphne."
He sprang forward, but she raised her hand warningly.
"Do not come too close, Monsieur, or I shall be forced to change myself into laurel," still keeping hold of the mythological thread.
"What does it all mean? I am dazed!" He covered his eyes, then withdrew his hand. "You are still there? You do not disappear?"
"I am flesh and blood as yet," with low laughter.
"And you are here in Quebec?" advancing, his face radiant with love and joy.
"Take care, or you will stumble against your vanity." Her glance roved toward the door. There was something of madness in the Chevalier's eyes. In his hands her mask had become a shapeless mass of silken cloth. "I did not come to Quebec because you were here, Monsieur; though I was perfectly aware of your presence here. That is why I ask you not to stumble against your vanity."
"What do you here, in Heaven's name?"
"I am contemplating peace and quiet for the remainder of my days. It is quite possible that within a few weeks I shall become … a nun."