go. I have answered. It is the one privilege M. de Berault possesses.'

'Then,' she replied almost in a whisper, 'if I were M. de Berault, I
would avail myself of it, and never fight again.'

'In that event, Mademoiselle,' I answered coldly, 'I should lose my men
friends as well as my women friends. Like Monseigneur the Cardinal, rule
by fear.'

She shuddered, either at the name or at the idea my words called up;
and, for a moment, we stood awkwardly silent. The shadow of the sundial
fell between us; the garden was still; here and there a leaf fluttered
slowly down. With each instant of that silence, of that aversion, I
felt the gulf between us growing wider, I felt myself growing harder;
I mocked at her past which was so unlike mine; I mocked at mine, and
called it fate. I was on the point of turning from her with a bow--and
with a furnace in my breast--when she spoke.

'There is a last rose lingering there,' she said, a slight tremor in her
voice. 'I cannot reach it. Will you pluck it for me, M. de Berault?'

I obeyed her, my hand trembling, my face on fire. She took the rose from
me, and placed it in the bosom of her dress, And I saw that her hand
trembled too, and that her cheek was dark with blushes.

She turned without more ado, and began to walk towards the house.
'Heaven forbid that I should misjudge you a second time!' she said in a
low voice. 'And, after all, who am I, that I should judge you at all? An
hour ago I would have killed that man had I possessed the power.'

'You repented, Mademoiselle,' I said huskily. I could scarcely speak.

'Do you never repent?' she said.

'Yes. But too late, Mademoiselle.'

'Perhaps it is never too late,' she answered softly.

'Alas, when a man is dead--'

'You may rob a man of worse than life!' she replied with energy,
stopping me by a gesture. 'If you have never robbed a man--or a
woman--of honour! If you have never ruined boy or girl, M. de Berault!
If you have never pushed another into the pit and gone by it yourself!
If--but, for murder? Listen. You are a Romanist, but I am a Huguenot,
and have read. "Thou shall not kill!" it is written; and the penalty,
"By man shall thy blood be shed!" But, "If you cause one of these little
ones to offend, it were better for you that a mill-stone were hanged
about your neck, and that you were cast into the depths of the sea."'

'Mademoiselle, you are merciful,' I muttered.

'I need mercy myself,' she answered, sighing. '