Vaguely uneasy and already tortured at heart, he repeated:
“What they told you?”
“Yes, that you were in love with Paule Guibert.”
He let fall the arm that was leaning on his and asked in a changed voice:
“Who told you that?”
Pale and speechless she uttered an inarticulate sound, as if she saw the ruined fragments of her happiness lying at her feet.
She was beaten by the magic of a single name and that name, in a mad aberration, she must needs have uttered herself! It was enough to see Jean’s face to understand the extent of her defeat, and in a rage at the shattering of her dream she made her error worse.
“That haughty little creature knew how to fascinate you, with her airs of a foreign princess. I had my doubts about her. She has been arranging this affair for a long time, I wager. She is mad, like all old maids in search of a husband. Go to her. She will know how to manage you!”
Restored as he was to his right mind by his temptress herself, Jean looked at her sadly because of her grace, mercifully because of her passionate heart. And it was in a gentle voice that he answered her insults.
“Isabelle, forgive me. It lay with you in those old days to share my life. And you saw this evening how weak I was and how powerful you were. It is not worthy of you to speak as you did. In the name of our dead love, Isabelle, be generous.”