"Most willingly, only for Una's sake. She has some natural curiosity on the subject, and I have promised her it shall be gratified."
The beautiful face of Mme. Lorraine grew positively fiendish with the evil smile that flashed across it.
"A true daughter of Eve," she said; "but your Una, as you call her, if she persists in her curiosity, may purchase her knowledge at as bitter cost as did the adventurous lady of Eden."
"I am not afraid of the truth, if you will only speak it and have done, madame," Una cried out, impatiently; and Eliot felt her tremble violently as she leaned against him.
Then both looked at the clever actress in surprise.
Her face had changed its expression, as if by magic, from hate and scorn to softness, gentleness, and poignant regret. Her splendid orbs were dim as with a mist of tears. Clasping her jeweled hands together in strong agitation, she faltered, pleadingly:
"Do not press me so hard, for—oh, how can I tell you what you ask?"
"Do you mean that there is shame, disgrace, linked with—my birth—my parentage?" Una demanded, almost wildly.
Mme. Lorraine gave her a cunning upward glance full of a sort of contemptuous pity.
"Listen to me, both of you," she said; "I have wronged you both, but Heaven knows how I repent of my evil deeds. I do not want to cause any more sorrow to either of you, as I must do if I tell Una what she asks. Therefore, let me go away, in silence, and be sure that in her case ignorance is bliss."