"You promised to love and to honour also, didn't you?"
Edith bowed her head. "I did," she answered, in a low tone, "and I have, and, God helping me, I shall do so again."
"Have I no rights?" he asked, with a sigh.
He could scarcely hear the murmured answer: "None."
"Nor you?"
She shook her head sadly, avoiding his eyes, then suddenly turned and faced him. "What of your own honour?" she demanded. "What of Miss Starr?"
"I have thought of that," he replied, miserably. "I have thought of nothing else all day."
Edith leaned back against the table. "What," she asked, curiously, "were you planning to do?"
The dull colour rose to his temples. "Go to her," he said, with his face averted, "tell her the truth like a man, and ask for freedom."
She laughed—the sort of laugh one hears from a woman tossing in delirium. Madame heard it, up-stairs, and shuddered.