Marie de Marcilly opened and shut the gold stopper of her vinaigrette as she answered: “I neither know nor care. Monsieur de Vibrac’s affairs do not interest me in the least.”
But the other was not to be denied, and with the feline cruelty of her sex she thrust in a pin.
“He adored you once—did he not?”
Marie laughed. “Whoever can remember a year back? The trifling of an hour passes with the hour, and one forgets it with one’s old gloves or a worn-out mask.”
I caught my breath. It was true then! Achon’s words—the thoughts that had come to me last night—were they not true—proved to the very hilt? But I would have measure for measure, and, waiting to hear no more, I drew back, the hot blood burning within me.
How little did I know that complex thing—a woman! I judged her from the standpoint of a man, forgetting that a woman never speaks out her whole thoughts, perhaps because she herself does not know what those thoughts are, perhaps because by her very nature she can never have complete self-knowledge, and so remains a sphinx to man and a mystery to herself.
I walked slowly up the gallery, hurt, wounded, all the savage in me roused. I had half a mind to turn on my heel, to see her no more, to give Marcilly’s letter to the nearest page to deliver to her, and to ride back, leaving her to her fate. When what was to happen was known, the avarice of Achon, the fears of Catherine, and the ferocity of the Guise would show no mercy—and she deserved none at my hands. Why should I move a finger to save her, this woman who could kill a man’s soul? And so, as I brooded, the tempter to whose counsels I was ever a ready listener whispered again in my ear, and I almost laughed as the infernal plan developed before me like lightning. Yes! There was a sweetness in the thought of such a vengeance that filled me with an unholy joy. From that moment I was lost—I had come forth from the gates of the temple, and the doors were shut behind me.
Near the end of the gallery where I had halted was a stairway leading down to the terrace below. I made a step toward it, hesitated, and then boldly descended; as I reached the last step coming face to face with the two, who had risen from their seats and were walking along the terrace.
We bowed to each other formally. Marie did not give me her hand, though the color left her cheek, and her companion glanced from one to another of us with a slightly malicious look, as if enjoying the situation; but I gave her little for her satisfaction, for, drawing my letter forth, I presented it, saying calmly:
“From Monsieur le Comte, madame, and I have besides a message for you.”