hile he was thus eloquently pleading his
cause, Isabelle, who had given him only a divided attention, thought
that she heard a peculiar little noise in the direction whence the
longed-for aid was to come, and fearing that Vallombreuse might hear it
also, hastened to answer him the instant that he paused, in a way to vex
him still further--for she preferred his anger to his love-making. Also,
she hoped that by quarrelling with him she would be able to prevent
his perceiving the suspicious little sound--now growing louder and more
noticeable.

"The happiness that you so eloquently describe, my lord, would be for me
a disgrace, which I am resolved to escape by death, if all other means
fail me. You never shall have me living. Formerly I regarded you with
indifference, but now I both hate and despise you, for your infamous,
outrageous and violent behaviour to me, your helpless victim. Yes, I may
as well tell you openly--and I glory in it--that I do love the Baron de
Sigognac, whom you have more than once so basely tried to assassinate,
through your miserable hired ruffians."

The strange noise still kept on, and Isabelle raised her voice to drown
it. At her audacious, defiant words, so distinctly and impressively
enunciated--hurled at him, as it were--Vallombreuse turned pale, and his
eyes flashed ominously; a light foam gathered about the corners of his
mouth, and he laid hold of the handle of his sword. For an instant he
thought of killing Isabelle himself, then and there. If he could not
have her, at least no one else should. But he relinquished that idea
almost as soon as it occurred to him, and with a hard, forced laugh
said, as he sprang up and advanced impetuously towards Isabelle, who
retreated before him:

"Now, by all the devils in hell, I cannot help admiring you immensely
in this mood. It is a new role for you, and you are deucedly charming
in it. You have got such a splendid colour, and your eyes are so
bright--you are superb, I declare. I am greatly flattered at your
blazing out into such dazzling beauty on my account--upon my word I am.
You have done well to speak out openly--I hate deceit. So you love de
Sigognac, do you? So much the better, say I--it will be all the sweeter
to call you mine. It will be a pleasing variety to press ardent
kisses upon sweet lips that say 'I hate you,' instead of the insipid,
everlasting 'I love you,' that one gets a surfeit of from all the pretty
women of one's acquaintance