, to which his mind still
held by the end of its veil of mystery, was about to speak at last, to
reveal itself, to disclose the woman, sorrowful or perverse, hidden
beneath the shell of the worldly artist. So he remained perfectly still,
holding his breath, but with no need to listen closely; for the others,
believing themselves alone in the hotel, allowed their passions and
their voices to rise without restraint.

"After all, what do you want of me?"

"I want you."

"Jenkins!"

"Yes, yes, I know; you have forbidden me ever to utter such words before
you; but others than I have said them to you and more too--"

Two nervous steps brought her nearer to the apostle, placed the
breathless contempt of her retort close to his broad sensual face.

"And if that were true, villain! If I were unable to defend myself
against disgust and ennui, if I did lose my pride, is it for you to
mention it? As if you were not the cause of it, as if you had not
withered and saddened my life forever."

And three swift, burning words revealed to the horrified Paul de Gery
the shocking scene of that assault disguised by loving guardianship,
against which the girl's spirit and mind and dreams had had to struggle
so long, and which had left her the incurable depression of premature
sorrow, a loathing for life almost before it had begun, and that curl at
the corner of the lip like the visible wreck of a smile.

"I loved you,--I love you. Passion carries everything before it,"
Jenkins replied in a hollow voice.

"Very well, love me, if it amuses you. For my part, I hate you, not only
because of the injury you have done me and all the beliefs and laudable
enthusiasms that you killed in me, but because you represent what are
the most execrable and hideous things under the sun to me, hypocrisy and
falsehood. Yes, in that worldly masquerade, that mass of false
pretences, of grimaces, of cowardly, indecent conventions which have
sickened me so thoroughly that I am running away, exiling myself in
order to avoid seeing them, that I prefer to them the galleys, the
gutter, or to walk the street as a prostitute, your mask, O sublime
Jenkins, is the one that inspires the greatest horror in me. You have
complicated our French hypocrisy, which consists mainly in smiles and
courtesies, with your effusive English handshakes, your cordial and
demonstrative loyalty. Everybody is taken in by it. People speak of
'honest Jenkins,' 'excellent, worthy Jenkins.'