“Tell me in your own dear barbarous tongue. Swear it to me in English.”
“I swear it, my beautiful gipsy. I love you.”
“Me only?”
“You only;” and Eugenia heard him kiss her again and again.
“Dis done, my Geraldo. You love me more than the pale-faced miss who scorned you?” He laughed a wild, unpleasant sounding laugh.
“Why not? You can love or say you can love. She was the changeable white moon; you are the glorious Southern sun. She was ice; you are fire. Better be burnt to death than die of cold and starvation. Men have worshipped you—men have died for you. I love you.”
They came into the room. His arm was round her. Her radiant face rested on his shoulder. Again and again he kissed those beautiful lips. His eyes were only for her and saw not Eugenia.
Miss Herbert rose. Her face was as white as her marble prototype’s. She might have passed out unobserved by Gerald, but Mlle. Carlotta was on the watch. She pointed to her, and Gerald turned and saw Eugenia.
He had but time to realize it was no vision—then she was gone. With a wild cry he turned to follow her, but the woman twined her arms around him and restrained him. She was strong, and for some moments detained him. Her resistance maddened him. With a fierce oath he grasped her round arms and tore them from his neck, throwing her away with such force that she fell upon the floor. Then he rushed after Eugenia.
She was walking swiftly along the road. He soon reached her side; but, although aware of his presence, she neither spoke nor looked at him.