She stared fixedly at the windows of the opposite house, and observed, as people do observe extraneous matters in moments of horrible agitation, that the lace curtains to them were very soiled. Her heart heaved under the crape fichû of her bodice, and he saw that it was only by great effort that she controlled herself from some bodily assault upon him.
“What a godsend for the illustrated press such a trial would be!” he continued, in quiet, amused tones. “But it would be disagreeable to you, because those papers disfigure so the pretty people whom they pretend to represent.”
“You would never dare to go to law!” she interrupted in a hoarse, fierce voice. “You would not dare! You would be punished yourself!”
“I should be punished, possibly, by losing the money. They would nonsuit me, but I think they would make you pay my costs. But as I have said, I do not mind losing the money; I have a good deal and no children, and I am old——”
“Well, then, why make this hideous fuss?”
Beaumont smiled.
“Why not make you, madame, a free gift of the money and the interest? Allez donc! You ought to be too proud to dream of taking a present from a tradesman. If I were a young man I might—on conditions—but I am old, and a beautiful woman is not much more to me than an ugly one, alas! Besides, you have been very rude, duchesse. No one should be so rude as that who does not stand on a solid bank balance.”
She turned her head over her shoulder and flashed a scathing glance upon him.
“How much longer are you going to prose on in this way? I want to go out.”
Beaumont shook his head. “You will not learn wisdom? You are wrong, madame. Twist a tiger’s tail, laugh at an anarchist, and put nitro-glycerine in your dressing-bag, but never, ah, never be rude to anyone who has you in his power.”