"Louis, for God's sake! I was mad! I was——"
"Oh, of course!" his harsh laugh grated in again. "That is about what I expected." Then his face hardened and he lashed her with his scorn.
"I was false to my husband. I deserted my child—I was mad! I stole out of my home like a thief and took all of its happiness with me—I was mad! I went away with my lover to what I believed would be a life of pleasure—I was mad!"
I trampled on every "Louis! Louis!" she sobbed, and writhed at his feet. "It's the truth! I was mad! I——"
"The truth! Hah! Would you like to hear the truth? You were tired of being an honorable woman—a pure mother! You were tired of me and loved—him! That's the truth! You loved him, didn't you? You loved him!"
"He loved me! He said he would kill himself for me! And I——"
"And you believed him! You never thought of me and I"—for a moment grief conquered anger and his voice broke—"I worshipped you! And ours was a love match," he went on bitterly, "for you told me once a thousand years ago that you loved me!"
His face worked, in a spasm of anguish, and he tried to move away, but the woman clutched a leg of his trousers with both hands and lifted her head suddenly.
"And it was—it is true, Louis!" she cried desperately.
His look was more than answer enough.