think that you have no heart."

"Presumably because I sometimes betray intelligence. And what of
yourself, Aline? What of your own attitude from the outset where M. de
La Tour d'Azyr is concerned? Does that show heart? If I were to tell you
what it really shows, we should end by quarrelling again, and God knows
I can't afford to quarrel with you now. I... I shall take another way."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, nothing at the moment, for you are not in any danger of marrying
that animal."

"And if I were?"

"Ah! In that case affection for you would discover to me some means of
preventing it--unless..." He paused.

"Unless?" she demanded, challengingly, drawn to the full of her short
height, her eyes imperious.

"Unless you could also tell me that you loved him," said he simply,
whereat she was as suddenly and most oddly softened. And then he added,
shaking his head: "But that of course is impossible."

"Why?" she asked him, quite gently now.

"Because you are what you are, Aline--utterly good and pure and adorable.
Angels do not mate with devils. His wife you might become, but never his
mate, Aline--never."

They had reached the wrought-iron gates at the end of the avenue.
Through these they beheld the waiting yellow chaise which had brought
Andre-Louis. From near at hand came the creak of other wheels, the beat
of other hooves, and now another vehicle came in sight, and drew to a
stand-still beside the yellow chaise--a handsome equipage with polished
mahogany panels on which the gold and azure of armorial bearings flashed
brilliantly in the sunlight. A footman swung to earth to throw wide the
gates; but in that moment the lady who occupied the carriage, perceiving
Aline, waved to her and issued a command.

CHAPTER V. MADAME DE PLOUGASTEL

The postilion drew rein, and the footman opened the door, letting
down the steps and proffering his arm to his mistress to assist her to
alight, since that was the wish she had expressed. Then he opened
one wing of the iron gates, and held it for her. She was a woman of
something more than forty, who once must have been very lovely, who
was very lovely still with the refining quality that age brings to some
women. Her dress and carriage alike advertised great rank.

"I take my leave here, since you have a visitor," said Andre-Louis.

"But it is an old acquaintance of your own, Andre. You remember Mme. la
Comtesse de Plougastel?"

He looked at the approaching l