She raised her fine, clear eyes to Lissac, whose look troubled her, and said:
"And how have these served me?—Kindness, trickery!—Trickery, chastity!—Ask all these men! All of them will go to Mademoiselle Kayser and not to me!"
"To you, madame," murmured Guy, "all that there is of devotion and earnestness, yes, all of the tenderest and the truest will go to you as respectful homage."
"Respect?—Yes, respect to us!—And with it goes the home! But to her! Ah! to her, love! And what if I wish to be loved myself?"
"Loved by him!" said Lissac in a low tone, as if he did not know what he said; and his hands instinctively sought Adrienne's. They trembled.
A woman's perfume and something like the keen odor of flowers assailed his nostrils. He had never felt the impulse of burning compassion which at a sign from this saint, would have driven him to attempt the impossible, to affront the noisy throng yonder.
"Loved by him, yes, by him!" answered Adrienne, with the mournful shake of the head of one who sees her joy vanish in the distance like a sinking bark.
She had been so happy! She had thought herself so dearly loved! Ah! those many cowardly lies uttered by Sulpice!
"Do not speak to me of him!" she suddenly said. "I hate him, too!—I do more than that! I despise him! I never wish to see him again!—never. You hear! never!"
"What will you do?" Lissac asked.