Now, Lady Betty was rash, very rash, and, having decided in her own mind that Bastien had long since forgotten that little encounter with her green fan, it suited her to say to him, when she met him alone soon afterward in the corridor:
“La! what has happened to your poor nose?”
It was only a little thing, but it was one of a long list that he had against her, and he hated De Bourmont, and saw in an instant that Lady Betty knew what had happened. And an evil thought came into his mind and straightway left his lips.
“Lady Betty Stair,” he said, “I believe that you and the gentleman who gave me this scratch think to be something more than friends; but you never can.” Lady Betty turned pale with rage at Bastien’s impertinence, and, for once, her nimble tongue and ready wit failed her. Bastien followed up his advantage.
“Do you want to know why? Because your brother’s blood is on De Bourmont’s hands. Your lover, Mademoiselle, killed your brother.”
At this Lady Betty stepped up quite close to Bastien, and looking him full in the eye, said quietly:—
“I do not believe you, Monsieur Bastien.”
Bastien shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you not remember, Mademoiselle, the very first night you came to this place, while we were at supper in De Bourmont’s room, he said: ‘I was the Abbé de Ronceray’s first penitent, and I made him a confession that kept him awake, I can tell you’?”
Yes, Lady Betty remembered it perfectly, but she would not acknowledge it to Bastien; she merely turned to go, with a look of ineffable contempt at him. Bastien, however, placed himself in her way so that she could not pass, and continued speaking:—