Her delicate railing meant nothing to him; he felt as he had felt in the Governor’s house at Avignon—like one who has been diverted from his path, and is anxious to return to it. He took up his beaver and his green cloak.
His serenity seemed to exasperate her almost beyond endurance; she sat up on the sofa, and the crystal heart depending from her bosom shuddered with her distressed breaths.
“What have I done to you?” she asked frantically. “What have I done to you? Never heed others—what have I done to you?”
He answered her gently.
“In truth, nothing. I shall never have anything to say against you—why should I?”
She eyed him keenly and made another attempt to get within his guard.
“Why do you refuse my help?”
“Because I will not pay the terms,” he answered even more gently, and stood with his cloak over his arm waiting his dismissal.
“You do scorn me,” she urged.
“Believe me, Madame, no.”