She was shaking her beautiful white hands, which had served her for a drinking-cup, and which seemed to throw off a shower of diamonds.
"Give me your handkerchief!"
Lucan handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her hands gravely; then, as she returned the handkerchief with her right hand, she raised herself on tiptoe and held her left hand up to the level of his face:
"There! now; don't scold any more!"
Lucan kissed the hand.
"The other now," she said again. "Please don't turn so pale, sir!"
Monsieur Lucan affected not to have heard these last words, and came down abruptly from his horse.
"I must help you to mount," he said, in a dry and harsh voice.
She was putting on her gloves with downcast look. Suddenly raising her head and looking at him with fixed gaze:
"What a miserable wretch I am, am I not?" she said.