"I mean to know.... I have the right to know!..."
She faltered:
"See you well, Monsieur, I cannot explain...."
He said doggedly:
"Then I shall explain it for you. You told me that to make me jealous! Now, did you not?"
She winced.
"Monsieur ... not then!... Upon my faith, I assure you.... See you well, I had promised my father that M. Charles should be my husband.... I would have kept that promise à tout hasard ... had M. Charles not married Mademoiselle Basselôt. And so I told you I was married, not then to make you jealous ... that came after. But to make it ... possible to be true!"
He almost reeled under the sudden shock of the terrible, exquisite confession. He would have given a year of life to let himself go with the sweet roaring current that tumbled foaming through his veins and sent its red sparkling bubbles to his brain. But there were steps and voices on the other side of the high laurel hedge that divided the kitchen garden from the pleasance. He recognized Bismarck-Böhlen's snigger and Hatzfeldt's lazy, well-bred accents—telling an anecdote of the Minister one could not doubt. The languid voice reached their ears distinctly. It said:
"He was an officer of French Imperial Hussars, who had been taken prisoner at Sedan, and had broken his parole. He had been taken again in arms against us, fighting under General Chancy at Le Mans. So she comes post-haste to Versailles, lays siege to the King, who will not see her—to the Crown Prince, who will not see her—and finally to Moltke, who will not see her, because all three of them are cowards at the sight of a woman's tears. Finally the Chief consents to receive her.... It was yesterday, in his room at the Prefecture. She comes in—all in black, which to a blonde of her type is very suitable, full of hope at not being made to croquer le marmot for long. She reels off a long tale about her Frederic, his bravery, and his excellent heart. The Chief listens sympathetically, looking at the clock from time to time. Again the heart is pressed upon his notice. It is heavy with grief at the thought of a life parting from Madame, who is Frederic's mistress, by the way—and not his wife!... It is weighed down with suspense at the delay of the Prussian Kriegsrath in answering the loved ones his prayer.... She gets so far, when the Chief looks up at the clock, and says, touching his table bell: 'Madame, that excellent heart of your client is even heavier than it was five minutes ago....' 'How, Monseigneur?' cries Madame. 'He was shot,' says the Chief, 'just now when I looked up at the clock. And, as a rule, seven out of the ten bullets shot off by the firing party are found to have lodged in the region of the heart.' So the poor woman screamed and fainted. They carried her past me with her teeth set and all her fine hair hanging down...."
Bismarck-Böhlen's snigger greeted the dénouement. The footsteps grew fainter. Juliette and Breagh exchanged glances. She said with white lips: