me some word of comfort.
Then, perceiving, perhaps, how banal must be all comfort that was of
words alone, and how it might but increase the anger of the wound it was
meant to balm, he sighed a simple "Adieu, monsieur!" and went his way.

When they were gone, I returned to the table, and, sitting down, I
buried my head in my arms, and there I lay, a prey to the most poignant
grief that in all my easy, fortunate life I had ever known. That she
should have done this thing! That the woman I loved, the pure, sweet,
innocent girl that I had wooed so ardently in my unworthiness at
Lavedan, should have stooped to such an act of betrayal! To what had I
not reduced her, since such things could be!

Then, out of my despair grew comfort, slowly at first, and more
vigorously anon. The sudden shock of the news had robbed me of some of
my wit, and had warped my reasoning. Later, as the pain of the blow grew
duller, I came to reflect that what she had done was but a proof--an
overwhelming proof--of how deeply she had cared. Such hatred as this
can be but born of a great love; reaction is ever to be measured by the
action that occasions it, and a great revulsion can only come of a great
affection. Had she been indifferent to me, or had she but entertained
for me a passing liking, she would not have suffered so.

And so I came to realize how cruel must have been the pang that had
driven her to this. But she had loved me; aye, and she loved me still,
for all that she thought she hated, and for all that she had acted as
if she hated. But even if I were wrong--even if she did hate me--what a
fresh revulsion would not be hers when anon she learnt that--whatever my
sins--I had not played lightly with her love; that I was not, as she had
imagined, the betrothed of another woman!

The thought fired me like wine. I was no longer listless--no longer
indifferent as to whether I lived or died. I must live. I must enlighten
the Keeper of the Seals and the judges at Toulouse concerning my
identity. Why, indeed, had I ever wavered? Bardelys the Magnificent must
come to life again, and then--What then?

As suddenly as I had been exalted was I cast down. There was a rumour
abroad that Bardelys was dead. In the wake of that rumour I shrewdly
guessed that the report of the wager that had brought him into Languedoc
would not be slow to follow. What then? Would she love me any the
better? Would she hate me any the less? If now she was wounded by the