Gradually the excitement wore itself away, and the party began to separate, some taking their departure, others making their way to the drawing-room, whence soon the strains of music could be heard. Some of the gentlemen, inveterate topers, following the custom of the times, lingered in the dining-room over their wine, but others, votaries of Venus, rather than of Bacchus, followed the ladies into the drawing-room. Amongst them was Mons. de Guichard, whose eye quickly singled out their hostess, who flitted about from group to group, dropping sugared words, varied according to the taste and sex of the recipients, among ladies and gentlemen alike. He made several efforts to gain her side, but each time, almost before he had reached her, she had moved away.
But, at last, he saw his opportunity. He had seated himself near the door, and Halima had just taken leave of some of her guests, and was passing him on her return. He rose to his feet, and bowing courteously, "Madame," he said, "may I beg the favor of five minutes' conversation with you privately on a matter of great moment?"
His manner was so confused, he hesitated and was so ill at ease, his face contorted and twitching with emotion she failed to comprehend, that her first sentiment was of alarm.
"Alone?" she asked, her tone and face expressing her surprise.
He made no verbal answer, but merely bowed assent.
Halima had no lack of courage, and her first emotion had been but momentary. "If you will follow me, Monsieur," she said. "But I trust our interview will not take long. Indeed, I cannot for more than a few minutes neglect my duties as a hostess."
She passed out of the room and led the way along the hall—throwing a dark cloak over her shoulders on the way—to a glass door that, by a short flight of steps, gave access to the garden, he following her. With rapid strides, they threaded several winding paths, coming out at last in front of a small pavilion, which she entered, inviting him to follow.
Halima closed the door, then, tapping the floor impatiently with her foot, she said, "I hope our business will not occupy us for more than a brief space, and that its importance will justify my seeming rudeness to my guests. Besides," and here she stifled a yawn behind her fan, "the hour grows late, and I am tired."
For a moment, the man stood silent, then, with gleaming eyes, their brightness scintillating even in the semi-darkness of the chamber, his words rushed out in a torrent.
"Oh! Madame, can you not see what I would say to you? You are a woman, does not your heart tell you of the fire that is consuming me? Madame, no words of mine—nay, it is not in the power of language to express it—can make you know the depth of my devotion to you. I love you, I adore you, I could kiss the very ground your foot has pressed. My peace of mind is gone, a tempest rages furiously within me. Every word you say to another stings me, every look, every smile bestowed on others is gall and wormwood to me. I live only in your presence. Without you, death is to be desired. Why think you I have put my life in peril and joined this conspiracy? 'Tis for love of you. Kings, countries, statesmen, all else in this world, count to me for nothing when weighed with you. With you I feel it in me to achieve great things, to dare all dangers. Your society is eagerly desired, you are admired, beloved, you hold an important position in this enterprise to reinstate the King; but, supported by your love, I can secure for you even a higher place than you have yet attained, or ever will without me. Madame, does not my fervor melt you? Will you bid me hope?"