“Ah!” she exclaimed, “is not that the château?” and she pointed with her riding-whip to where a vast, irregular shadow loomed between the mist and the trees.
“Yes!” I answered, and at that moment madame’s whip somehow slipped from her hand and fell to earth, where it lay with its jewelled head flashing, for all the world like a snake.
She uttered a little exclamation, and, dismounting, I picked up the whip and handed it to her, her gloved fingers touching mine for a moment. And then, I do not know how it was, but I stood there by the side of her horse, and she, playing with the handle of the whip, said in her low, sweet voice:
“Monsieur, I hear that you are to be married. If it is true, will you permit an old friend to wish you all happiness?”
The blue eyes looked down upon me kindly; there was a smile upon the arch of her lips. I had seen the temptress so before, leading me on, but though I tried to steel myself my heart began to beat, and my voice trembled as I answered:
“The story is not true, madame; but I thank you for your good wishes.”
“I am sorry,” she answered; “I had hoped it was true.”
The time, the hour, the drawing power in her glance, was bringing me to her feet again. Could I not free myself from this Circe who looked so innocent and pure, and yet could pitilessly destroy? Was I again to dance for her amusement? I tried to speak. I meant to say something bitter, but blundered into a hopeless:
“I shall never marry.”
She smiled now, and even through the mist I could see the pink on her cheek, as she bent forward and laid her hand lightly on my shoulder.