e disloyal part he was playing at this
moment made the blood mount to his cheeks and took away, for the time
being, his ordinary assurance. He sought in vain for a speech which
might first justify him and then conquer her. He had recourse to a
method often employed in the absence of eloquence. He fell on his
knees before the young woman and seized her hands; it seemed as if the
violence of his emotions rendered him incapable of expressing himself
except by silent adoration. As she felt his hands touch hers, Clemence
drew back and said in a low voice:

"You disgust me!"

"Disgust!" he repeated, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Yes, and that is not enough," she continued, indignantly, "I ought to
say scorn instead of disgust. You deceived me when you said you loved
me--you infamously deceived me!"

"But I adore you!" he exclaimed, with vehemence; "what proof do you wish
of my love?"

"Go! go away at once! A proof, did you say? I will accept only one: go,
I order it, do you understand?"

Instead of obeying her, he seized her in his arms in spite of her
resistance.

"Anything but that," he said; "order me to kill myself at your feet, I
will do it, but I will not go."

She tried for a moment to disengage herself, but although she used all
her strength, she was unable to do so.

"Oh, you are without pity," she said, feebly, "but I abhor you; rather,
a thousand times rather, kill me!"

Gerfaut was almost frightened by the agonized accent in which she spoke
these words; he released her, but as he removed his arms, she reeled and
he was obliged to support her.

"Why do you persecute me, then?" she murmured, as she fell in a faint
upon her lover's breast.

He picked her up in his arms and mounted the narrow stairs with
difficulty. Carrying her into the parlor, he placed her upon the divan.
She had completely lost consciousness; one would have believed her dead
from the pallor of her face, were, it not for a slight trembling which
agitated her form every few seconds and announced a nervous attack. The
most expert of lady's maids could not have removed the little ribbon
from her neck, which seemed to trouble her respiration, more adroitly
than did Octave. In spite of his anxiety, he could not repress a
smile as he recognized the pin which he hardly expected to find upon
Clemence's neck, considering the hostile way in which she had greeted
him. He knelt before her and bathed her temples with cold water, makin