“No, pardon me, but I must speak to you––day and night I have thought of them, and now that you are here––oh, I know you sent me away––that is, you hid from me; and why, Judithe? I believe on my soul it was because you meant those words when you said: ‘I love you now, and from the first moment you ever looked at me!’ I told myself at first, when I left France, that it was all falsehood, coquetry––but I could not keep that belief, for the words rang too true––you thought you were going over that bank to death, and all your heart was in your voice and your eyes. That moment has come back to me a thousand times since; has been with me in the thick of battle, singing through my ears as the bullets whistled past. ‘I love you now, and from the first moment you ever looked at me.’ It is no use to pretend you did not mean those words then. I know in my heart you did. You were bound in some way, no doubt, and fancied you had no right to say them. The announcement of your engagement suggested that. But you are free now, or you would not be here, and I must be heard.”
“Be satisfied then,” she replied, indifferently, though her hand trembled on the bridle, “you perceive you have, thanks to your stronger arm, an audience of one.”
“You are angry at my presumption––angry at the advantage I have taken of the situation?” he asked. “I grant you are right; but remember, it is now or perhaps never with me; and it is the presumption of love––a woman should forgive that.”
“They usually do, Monsieur,” she replied, with a little shrug and glance of amusement. For one bewildered instant she had lost control of herself, and had only the desire 265 to flee; but it was all over now, she remembered another point to be made in the game––something to postpone the finale until she had seen Pierson.
“It is not just to me,” he said, meeting her mocking glance with one that was steadfast and determined. “However your sentiments have changed, I know you cared for me that day, as I have cared for you ever since, and now that you have come here––to my own country, to my mother’s house, I surely may ask this one question: Why did you accept the love I offered, and then toss it away almost in the same breath?”
“I may reply by another question,” she said, coolly. “What right had you to make any offers of love to me at any time? What right have you now?”
“What right?”
“Yes; does your betrothed approve? Is that another of the free institutions in your land of liberties?”
“What do you mean?––my betrothed?”
“Your betrothed,” she said, and nodded her head with that same cool little smile. “I heard her name that evening of the drive you remember so well; our friend, the Countess Helene, mentioned it to me––possibly for fear my very susceptible heart might be won by your protection of us,” and she glanced at him again, mockingly. “You had forgotten to mention it to me, but it really does not matter, I have learned since then that gentlemen absolutely cannot go around reciting the lists of former conquests––it is too apt to prevent the acquisition of new ones. I did not realize it then––there were so many things I could not realize; and I felt piqued at your silence; but,” with an expressive little gesture and a bright smile, “I am no longer so. I come to your home; I clasp hands with you; I meet your bride-elect, Miss Loring––she is remarkably pretty, Monsieur, 266 and I am quite prepared to dance at your wedding; therefore––”