All the rages I had ever been in before in my life were as nothing compared with the rage that devoured me when I had read that fourth page of Mrs. Finch's letter. Nugent had got the better of me and my precautions! Nugent had robbed his brother of Lucilla, in the vilest manner, with perfect impunity! I cast all feminine restraints to the winds. I sat down with my legs anyhow, like a man. I rammed my hands into the pockets of my dressing-gown. Did I cry? A word in your ear—and let it go no farther. I swore.
How long the fit lasted, I don't know. I only remember that I was disturbed by a knock at my door.
I flung open the door in a fury—and confronted Oscar on the threshold.
There was a look in his face that instantly quieted me. There was a tone in his voice that brought the tears suddenly into my eyes.
"I must leave for England in two hours," he said. "Will you forgive me, Madame Pratolungo, before I go?"
Only those words! And yet—if you had seen him, if you had heard him, as he spoke them—you would have been ready as I was—not only to forgive him—but to go to the ends of the earth with him; and you would have told him so, as I did.
In two hours more, we were in the train, on our way to England.