Standing there, light and slight, a graceful, golden reed, was the girl who was now all the world to him.
But Pansy was not looking in his direction, but at Lucille, as if she could not believe what she saw before her.
The sight brought Le Breton quickly to his feet.
"Pansy!" he exclaimed.
His voice and action made Lucille glance towards the window.
She looked at the girl standing there; then she smiled lazily, a trifle maliciously.
Lucille saw before her the rival she had suspected, who had changed Le Breton's lukewarm liking into cutting indifference. With the perception of her kind she realised that Pansy was something quite different from herself and the women Le Breton usually amused himself with. That slim girl with her wide, purple eyes and vivid, flower-like face was no courtesan, no toy; but a woman with a spirit and a soul that could hold and draw a man, apart from her physical attractions; the sort of woman, in fact, that a man like Raoul Le Breton might be tempted to marry.
At sound of his voice Pansy came into the room, her eyes blazing, her breast heaving, her two hands clutching the long amber chain in an effort to keep herself calm and collected.
So it was true! He was living here with that red-haired creature, this man who had come to her vowing she was the only woman he had ever loved! This man whom she had kissed and whom she had allowed to kiss and fondle her!
Pansy looked at Lucille in her white satin and emeralds—Lucille, big and voluptuous, her profession written on her face.