He ceased speaking, and gazed down into her face, searching anxiously for some sign that he had moved her. His face was deathly white, and his breath came throbbingly in the intensity of his suspense.
But she remained unmoved. For one thing, she did not like the man; had never felt assured that he was trustworthy. Had almost any other man evinced such passion for her, even had it awakened no responsive chord in her, would have felt touched, and, to spare him would have checked him at the outset. But this man she felt she hated.
"I don't know which amazes me the most, Sir," she replied; "your temerity, or your vanity. What have I ever said or done to warrant your addressing me in terms of love? I can charge myself with nothing that should have prompted it. It must be that you have too liberally indulged in wine, and that your wits have gone awandering. I will leave you to regain your scattered senses."
The measured incisiveness of her tone, and the contemptuous expression of her face would have silenced most men, but he was mad with passion. When she moved to go, he placed himself before her. "If I am drunk," he said, "'tis not with wine, but love. Oh! how can so fair a form, that glows with life, and warmth, enshrine so cold a heart? An icicle shut up within a jeweled casket. You heed not that my heart is lacerated, and for love of you. But have a care, for passion makes one desperate. Oh! Madame," and his voice changed suddenly to a wail, "forgive me and relent." He reached out his hand and clutched her dress.
"Unhand me, Sir." She spoke quietly enough, but rage was gathering in her face, and some little trepidation. They were some distance from the house and, for aught she knew, no one was within call.
But his passion had passed beyond his power. A salacious glare was in his eye, and his lips twitched lustfully. The next moment he had caught her to him and almost stifled her in his embrace. She felt his hot breath on her face, his kisses on her lips. Oh! how she loathed the man. A piercing shriek went up. There was a sound of rushing feet outside, the door of the pavilion was flung open, and two men burst in.
One wore a plain traveling suit, the other was dressed in the height of fashion; but both were shrouded in long cloaks.
At their entrance, de Guichard loosed his hold on Halima, who was panting and almost speechless with rage and shame, at the insult put upon her.
The first of the newcomers—he was St. Just—turned savagely on de Guichard. "Explain your presence here, Sir," he exclaimed.
But the man stood tongue-tied. The change in the position had been so rapid and unlooked for, that he was at a loss for words.