uraged the advances of such a man as M. de La
Tour d'Azyr, she became roundly abusive. She shocked and stunned him
by her virulently shrewish tone, and her still more unexpected force of
invective.

He sought to reason with her, and finally she came to certain terms with
him.

"If you have become betrothed to me simply to stand as an obstacle in my
path, the sooner we make an end the better."

"You do not love me then, Climene?"

"Love has nothing to do with it. I'll not tolerate your insensate
jealousy. A girl in the theatre must make it her business to accept
homage from all."

"Agreed; and there is no harm, provided she gives nothing in exchange."

White-faced, with flaming eyes she turned on him at that.

"Now, what exactly do you mean?"

"My meaning is clear. A girl in your position may receive all the homage
that is offered, provided she receives it with a dignified aloofness
implying clearly that she has no favours to bestow in return beyond the
favour of her smile. If she is wise she will see to it that the homage
is always offered collectively by her admirers, and that no single one
amongst them shall ever have the privilege of approaching her alone. If
she is wise she will give no encouragement, nourish no hopes that it may
afterwards be beyond her power to deny realization."

"How? You dare?"

"I know my world. And I know M. de La Tour d'Azyr," he answered her. "He
is a man without charity, without humanity almost; a man who takes what
he wants wherever he finds it and whether it is given willingly or
not; a man who reckons nothing of the misery he scatters on his
self-indulgent way; a man whose only law is force. Ponder it, Climene,
and ask yourself if I do you less than honour in warning you."

He went out on that, feeling a degradation in continuing the subject.

The days that followed were unhappy days for him, and for at least
one other. That other was Leandre, who was cast into the profoundest
dejection by M. de La Tour d'Azyr's assiduous attendance upon Climene.
The Marquis was to be seen at every performance; a box was perpetually
reserved for him, and invariably he came either alone or else with his
cousin M. de Chabrillane.

On Tuesday of the following week, Andre-Louis went out alone early in
the morning. He was out of temper, fretted by an overwhelming sense of
humiliation, and he hoped to clear his mind by walking. In turning
the corner of the Place du Bouffay he ran into a slight