“Lest it might offend to have the person thrust on you whom you would not know among less ceremonious surroundings.”
“Yet you came alone?”
“I could not help that, I had to see you, even though you refused to recognize me; I had to see you. Did I not prophecy there in the wood that we should meet again? Even the flowers you gave me I––”
“Monsieur, no more!” and she rose from the chair with a certain decision. “It was a thoughtless, childish farce played there at Fontainbleau. But––it is over. I––I have felt humiliated by that episode, Monsieur. Young ladies in France do not converse with strangers. Pray go back to England and forget that you found one so indiscreet––oh! I know what you would say, Monsieur,” as he was about to speak. “I know many of these ladies of the court would only laugh over such an episode––it would be but a part of their amusements for the day; but I, I do not belong to the court or their fashions. I am only ashamed, and ask that you forget it. I would not want any one to think––I mean that I––”
She had commenced so bravely with her wise, firm little speech, but at the finale she wavered and broke down miserably.
“Don’t!”––he broke in as a tear fell on the fan she held; 74 “you make me feel like a brute who has persecuted you; don’t cry. Come here to the window; listen to me. I––I loved you that first day; you just looked at me, spoke to me and it was all over with me. I can’t undo it. I can go away, and I will, rather than make you unhappy; but I can’t forget you. I have never forgotten you for an hour. That was why. Oh, I know it is the wildest, maddest, most unpardonable thing I am saying to you. Your friends would want to call me out and shoot me for it, and I shall be happy to give them the chance,” he added, grimly. “But don’t, for Heaven’s sake, think that my memory of you would be less than respectful. Why, I––I adore you. I am telling it to you like a fool, but I only ask you to not laugh until I am out of hearing. I––will go now––and do not even ask your forgiveness, because––well I can’t honestly say I am sorry.”
Sorry! She thought of those days when she had wakened to a new world because his eyes and his voice haunted her; she heard him acknowledge the same power, and he spoke of forgiveness as though convicted of a fault. Well, she had not been able to prevent the same fault, so, how dared she blame him? He need not know, of course, how well she had remembered; yet she might surely be a little kind for all that.
“Monsieur Incognito!”
Her voice had an imperious tone; she remembered she must not be too kind. He was already among the palms, in the full light of the salon, and he was boy enough for all the color to leave his face as he heard the low command. She had heard him declare his devotion, yet she had recalled him.
“Madame,” he said, and stood stubbornly the width of the alcove from her, though he was conscious of all tender 75 words rushing to his lips. She was so adorable; a woman in mentality, but the veriest girl as to the emotions his words had awakened.