“In telling all, I must tell of my own folly.”
“Folly in which we were both participants? Yes? Then I must know it. It is not fair to hide my past doings from me. What was this folly?”
“Well, since you will have it. In asking me to paint The Death of Paul, you made offer of fifty thousand roubles, which I declined in favour of a sweeter guerdon.”
“And that was——?”
“Perhaps you will show as great anger now as you did when you first heard the proposal.”
“Tell me, and you can judge.”
“I declined to paint the picture except on promise of—a kiss from you.”
“And what was my answer?”
“You gave the promise.”
The colour stole over Marie’s cheek. Was ever woman so unfortunately circumstanced as she—compelled to accept whatever this Englishman said about her? If he should go farther yet and say that she had promised to marry him, how could she refute his statement?