'Then accept my offer,' said René; 'there is still time. Let us fly together.'
'No,' she replied, in accents of still greater despair, 'no; I can't do that either. It would be so easy to make a promise and break it. But I have already lied too much.' She rose. The crisis through which she had passed was beginning to react upon her nerves, and she repeated wearily, 'I can't do that either—I can't.'
'What, then, do you want?' he cried in tones of fury. 'Why were you on your knees just now? A toy—a plaything—is that what you want me to be? A young man whose caresses would compensate you for those of the other!' His anger carried him away, and the brutal words almost led to deeds. He strode towards her with uplifted fist and with an expression so terrible that she thought he was going to kill her. She drew back, pale with fear, and with outstretched hands.
'Forgive me, forgive me!' she cried in her distraction. 'Don't hurt me!'
She had taken shelter behind a table upon which, amongst other trifles, there stood the photograph of the Baron in a plush frame. In struggling with the horrible temptation to strike this defenceless woman René had turned his eyes from her. As they fell upon the portrait he broke out into a hideous laugh. Taking up the frame, he seized Suzanne by the hair and rubbed the portrait violently over her lips and face, at the risk of cutting her, continuing his frantic laughter all the time.
'Here,' he cried, 'here is your lover! Look at him—your lover!'
He threw the frame upon the floor, and crushed it with his heel. But no sooner had he committed this mad action than he was ashamed of it. For the last time he looked at Suzanne as, with dishevelled hair and staring eyes, she stood in a corner overcome with fear—then without a word he left the room, and she had not the strength to utter a syllable to retain him.
CHAPTER XX
THE ABBÉ TACONET
Two days after this terrible scene Claude Larcher was standing on the balcony of Colette's rooms, which overlooked the Tuileries gardens. It was about two in the afternoon, and there had been a return of glorious spring weather, bringing a bright blue sky and warm May breezes. Claude had spent several days with Colette. The two lovers had been seized with one of those revivals of passion which are all the more ardent and vehement on account of the memories of past quarrels and the certainty of others to come. Larcher was reflecting upon this curious law of love as he watched the smoke of his cigar curling up in thin blue wreaths in the sunshine. Then he looked down upon the line of carriages in the street and the crowd of promenaders under the scanty foliage of the gardens.