"I would not put it so offensively as that, my friend. Let us say that the part you played was not a leading one; but you filled your rôle, such as it was, with credit. A stronger part would, I fear, have proved too much for you. You may thank me, therefore, that you were not cast for the jeune premier."
She laughed, a little scornful laugh that was not pleasant to the hearer.
For a few seconds, St. Just made no rejoinder. Then, looking at her sternly, he enquired, "Do you tell me seriously that you had anything to do with Tremeau's listening to my conversation with Josephine at St. Cloud, and afterwards forestalling me in my mission to the Emperor?"
"Certainly I do."
"You did an innocent woman a grievous wrong; what harm had she ever done to you?"
"None that I know of. I was not jealous of her, if you suggest that. I did not mind your philandering with her in my absence. Without vanity, I think I might put my attractions in the scale with hers. No, I had not the least animus against her; she was a quantité négligeable, a victim to the odium Napoleon would incur by her divorce."
"'Twas a heartless act. Had you no consideration for your fellow woman?"
"What thought had Buonaparte for me, when he robbed me of my innocence?" she retorted sharply.
He recoiled from her, as though he had been struck. "Ah! don't," he said imploringly. "Why remind me of it? It was almost blotted from my mind."
"But never from mine," and her eyes looked hard and cruel, and gleamed with a vindictive fire.