And he kissed her long white hands and she looked at him with a brighter smile, as though each kiss had wiped out a little of that hideous memory:
"You must love me, Maxime, you must, because no woman will ever love you as I do. To please you, I have acted, I am still acting not only according to your orders, but according to your unspoken wishes. I do things against which all my instincts and all my conscience revolt; but I am unable to resist.... All that I do I do mechanically, because it is of use to you and you wish it ... and I am ready to begin again to-morrow ... and always."
He said, bitterly:
"Ah, Clotilde, why did I ever mix you up in my adventurous life? I ought to have remained the Maxime Bermond whom you loved five years ago and not have let you know ... the other man that I am."
She whispered very low!
"I love that other man too; and I regret nothing."
"Yes, you regret your past life, your life in the light of day."
"I regret nothing, when you are there!" she said, passionately. "There is no such thing as guilt, no such thing as crime, when my eyes see you. What do I care if I am unhappy away from you and if I suffer and cry and loathe all that I do! Your love wipes out everything.... I accept everything.... But you must love me!"
"I do not love you because I must, Clotilde, but simply because I love you."
"Are you sure?" she asked, trustingly.