roamed through those sweet-scented gardens, and she craved to see
herself in that tomblike fortress Fuentecarral, passing in front of the
pale female ancestors of Rosas, aghast at the _froufrou_ of the
_Parisian woman_.

Jose thought Marianne's burning glance was an expression of her love.
Ah! how completely the last six months in Paris had riveted him to this
woman, who was the mistress of another! One day,--Vaudrey had just left
Marianne at the _rond-point_ of the Champs-Elysees,--the duke seeing her
enter his house, said abruptly to her:

"I was about to write you, Marianne."

"Why, my dear duke?"

"To ask an appointment."

"You are always welcome, my friend, at our little retreat."

He made her sit down, seized both her hands, and looked at her earnestly
as he said:

"Swear to me that you have never been Lissac's mistress!"

She did not even quiver, but was as calm as if she had long awaited this
question.

She boldly met Jose's glance and said:

"Does one ask such a question of the woman one loves?"

"Suppose that I ask this question of the Duchesse de Rosas!" said the
Spaniard, with quivering lip.

She became as pale as he.

"I do not understand--" she said.

The duke remained silent for a moment; then his entire soul passed into
his voice:

"I have no family, Marianne. I am entirely my own master, and I love
you. If you swear to me that you have not been Guy's mistress--"

"Nobody has the right to say that he has even touched my lips," replied
Marianne firmly. "Only one man, he who took me, an innocent girl, and
left me heart-broken, disgusted, believing I should never again love,
before I met you. He is dead."

"I know," said Rosas, "you confided that to me formerly.--A widow save
in name, I offer you, yes, I! my name, my love, my whole life--will you
take them?"

"Eh! you know perfectly well that I love you!" she exclaimed, as she
frantically gave him the burning and penetrating kiss that had never
left his lips since the soiree at Sabine's.

"Then, no one--no one?" Jose repeated.

"No one!"

"On honor?"

"On honor!"

"Oh! how I love you!" he said, distractedly, all his passion shattering
his coldness of manner, as the sun melts the snow. "If you but knew how
jealous and crazed I am about you!--I desire you, I adore you, and I
condemn myself to remain glacial before you, beneath your glance that
fires my blood--I love you, and the recollection of Guy hindered me from
telling yo