"I am very sorry," she said, "If I could have foreseen this—perhaps—"
"But did you not foresee it?" asked Madame Bozier persistently, "Did you not realize that men always want what they cannot have—and that the very fact of your leaving Paris increased his ardour and sent him on here in pursuit?"
Sylvie Hermenstein was of a very truthful nature, and she had not attempted to deny this suggestion.
"Yes—I confess I did think that if I separated myself altogether from him it might induce him to put himself in a more honourable position with me—but I did not know then—" she paused, and a deep flush crimsoned her cheeks.
"Did not know what?" queried Madame Bozier softly.
Sylvie hesitated a moment, then spoke out bravely.
"I did not know then that I should meet another man whose existence would become ten times more interesting and valuable to me than his! Yes, Katrine, I confess it! There is no shame in honesty! And so, to be true to myself, however much the Marquis might love me now, I could never be his wife."
Madame Bozier was silent. She guessed her beloved pupil's heart's secret,—but she was too tactful to dwell upon the subject, and before the brief, half-embarrassed pause between them had ended, a servant entered, asking,
"Will the Signora Contessa receive the Capitano Ruspardi?"
Sylvie rose from her seat with a look of surprise.