Romain handed her one and rang the bell. Liane did not protest when he ordered a liqueur, she merely stated which she preferred. As soon as her wants were satisfied, she continued her story, but her tone was different.
“Oh well!” she said. “I am not, as you may imagine, as particular as all that—a little love is never out of place in a young man, and if your nephew had been satisfied with a little in return, who knows how long the arrangement might have lasted? But he was not—he is a young man of a terribly serious nature, brought up in the country, which I find we both detest. He required a great deal of love, he required a great deal of everything, that young man. I am a busy woman and I could not find time for him. I frankly told him so. What a business! He raved, he stormed, he made himself ill. He drove me to my wits’ end. I was patient, but in the end I became bored.”
“Too much is always a bore,” murmured Romain gently.
“I gave him his dismissal. What was my horror when in despair (perhaps, too, poor boy, with some thought of revenge) I beheld him throw himself away on a little girl of the theatre, a trifle of a cabotine, used, I believe, to clean the boards! This is what (I said to myself) I have driven him to!”
“I can fancy it must have annoyed you,” agreed Romain.
“It was of his relations that I thought most,” Liane continued. “You whom I have met—Madame la Comtesse whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting. But I comforted myself—it will be over before they have time to hear of it, I said. I must not blame myself too severely.”
“And then what happened?” asked Romain, with some interest. He had heard nothing from Jean lately.
“Jean has been very ill,” said Liane. “One can imagine the kind of thing; truly I feel myself consumed with remorse—poor boy! what sufferings I have caused him! This girl has nursed him. It appears that for his sake she has given up scrubbing the boards; they have no means of support, and out of gratitude—and I cannot forbear saying to myself, out of despair—he is contemplating a union with her.”
“A what!” cried Romain, now really startled.
“My dear friend, I regret to say that I believe Jean capable of anything,” said Liane, “even marriage!”