“In the midst of all that can shake the faith of man and rouse his jealousy, for I see I am not first in your heart, I am no longer thine own self—well, Clemence, even so, I prefer to believe you, to believe that voice, to believe those eyes. If you deceive me, you deserve—”
“Ten thousand deaths!” she cried, interrupting him.
“I have never hidden a thought from you, but you—”
“Hush!” she said, “our happiness depends upon our mutual silence.”
“Ha! I will know all!” he exclaimed, with sudden violence.
At that moment the cries of a woman were heard,—the yelping of a shrill little voice came from the antechamber.
“I tell you I will go in!” it cried. “Yes, I shall go in; I will see her! I shall see her!”
Jules and Clemence both ran to the salon as the door from the antechamber was violently burst open. A young woman entered hastily, followed by two servants, who said to their master:—
“Monsieur, this person would come in in spite of us. We told her that madame was not at home. She answered that she knew very well madame had been out, but she saw her come in. She threatened to stay at the door of the house till she could speak to madame.”
“You can go,” said Monsieur Desmarets to the two men. “What do you want, mademoiselle?” he added, turning to the strange woman.