"Pardon, but I can not lose you so soon. Mademoiselle is doubtless at prayer and may not be interrupted. I have so many questions to ask."
Madame was pale, but her eyes were glowing. She folded her hands with a passiveness which boded future ill.
"When you said that you trapped me that night at the Palais Royal, simply to take a feather from my plume, you did not mean that. You had some deeper motive."
Madame's fingers locked and unlocked. "Monsieur … !" she began,
"Why, it seems only yesterday that it was 'Paul'," he interrupted.
"Monsieur, I beg of you to let me go. You are emulating Monsieur d'Hérouville, and that conduct is beneath you."
"But will you listen to what I have to say?"
"I will listen," with a dangerous quiet. "Go on, Monsieur; tell me how much you love me this day. Tell me the story of the oriole, whose mate this year is not the old. Go on; I am listening."
A twinge of his recent cowardice came back to him. He moistened his lips.
"Why do you doubt my love?'"