“Read it, I beg,” Denise urged, her tone unconsciously cold and severe.
It was sealed with the crest of the Marquise de Pompadour, and André read these words:
“I must see you at once.—A. de P.”
The crumpled note fell from his fingers. Ah! Sooner or later he had known even in his great bliss that he must answer Denise’s appeal, but this message made a decision imperative.
“Will you save me as I asked you?” Denise said, and once again she came close to him.
“And if I cannot promise to take your place?” he questioned to gain time.
“Then I must go on alone—alone,” she answered, “and God knows what I may do.”
Ambition, loyalty, love, his pledged oath to Madame de Pompadour, fear, remorse, and pain struggled within him.
“I will promise anything, anything but that,” he cried in despair.
“It is the only thing that can help,” she said very quietly: “but it is well I should know the truth. I thank you for that.” Tears were in her voice. “Do not think the worse of me if—” she stopped. Words failed her. Fate and the mistakes of the past of each were too strong for him and for her.