he had been struck by her--devilishly struck by
her--he had been, indeed! And one day when she answered, in order not to
appear to attach any importance to this declaration, that she was very
glad of it, he took an opportunity, as their horses stopped side by side
before a beautiful sunset, to put his arm suddenly round her waist, and
give her a kiss, so abrupt, so violent, so outrageous, that she screamed
aloud. He did not remove his arm from her, his coarse, red face drew
near her own again with an expression that filled her with horror. She
struggled to free herself, her horse began to rear, she screamed for
help with all her might, but nothing answered her save an echo. The
situation seemed critical for Jacqueline. As to M. de Talbrun, he was
quite at his ease, as if he were accustomed to make love like a centaur;
while the girl felt herself in peril of being thrown at any moment, and
trampled under his horse's feet. At last she succeeded in striking her
aggressor a sharp blow across the face with her riding-whip. Blinded for
a moment, he let her go, and she took advantage of her release to put
her horse to its full speed. He galloped after her, beside himself with
wrath and agitation; it was a mad but silent race, until they reached
the gate of the Chateau de Fresne, which they entered at the same
moment, their horses covered with foam.

"How foolish!" cried Giselle, coming to meet them. "Just see in what a
state you have brought home your poor horses."

Jacqueline, pale and trembling, made no answer. M. de Talbrun, as he
helped her to dismount, whispered, savagely: "Not a word of this!"

At dinner, his wife remarked that some branch must have struck him on
the cheek, there was a red mark right across his face like a blow.

"We were riding through the woods," he answered, shortly.

Then Giselle began to suspect something, and remarked that nobody was
talking that evening, asking, with a half-smile, whether they had been
quarrelling.

"We did have a little difference," Oscar replied, quietly.

"Oh, it did not amount to anything," he said, lighting his cigar; "let
us make friends again, won't you?" he added, holding out his hand to
Jacqueline. She was obliged to give him the tips of her fingers, as she
said in her turn, with audacity equal to his own:

"Oh, it was less than nothing. Only, Giselle, I told your husband that I
had had some bad news, and shall have to go back to Paris, and he tried
to persuade m