I turned to her. I set my hand lightly upon her arm; I let my gaze encounter the upward glance of her eyes—blue as forget-me-nots.
“You suffer!” she murmured, with sweet compassion.
“Worse, Roxalanne! I have sown in your heart too the seed of suffering. Oh, I am too unworthy!” I cried out; “and when you come to discover how unworthy it will hurt you; it will sting your pride to think how kind you were to me.” She smiled incredulously, in denial of my words. “No, child; I cannot tell you.”
She sighed, and then before more could be said there was a sound at the door, and we started away from each other. The Vicomte entered, and my last chance of confessing, of perhaps averting much of what followed, was lost to me.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PORTRAIT
Into the mind of every thoughtful man must come at times with bitterness the reflection of how utterly we are at the mercy of Fate, the victims of her every whim and caprice. We may set out with the loftiest, the sternest resolutions to steer our lives along a well-considered course, yet the slightest of fortuitous circumstances will suffice to force us into a direction that we had no thought of taking.
Now, had it pleased Monsieur de Marsac to have come to Lavedan at any reasonable hour of the day, I should have been already upon the road to Paris, intent to own defeat and pay my wager. A night of thought, besides strengthening my determination to follow such a course, had brought the reflection that I might thereafter return to Roxalanne, a poor man, it is true, but one at least whose intentions might not be misconstrued.
And so, when at last I sank into sleep, my mind was happier than it had been for many days. Of Roxalanne's love I was assured, and it seemed that I might win her, after all, once I removed the barrier of shame that now deterred me. It may be that those thoughts kept me awake until a late hour, and that to this I owe it that when on the morrow I awakened the morning was well advanced. The sun was flooding my chamber, and at my bedside stood Anatole.
“What's o'clock?” I inquired, sitting bolt upright.