e knew the words of her fate were trembling on his lips,
and yet they did not come! The shadow of that pale hand at Beaumanoir,
weak and delicate as it was, seemed to lay itself upon his lips when
about to speak to her, and snatch away the words which Angelique,
trembling with anticipation, was ready to barter away body and soul to
hear spoken.

In a shady passage through a thick greenery where the lights were dimmer
and no one was near, she allowed his arm for a moment to encircle her
yielding form, and she knew by his quick breath that the words were
moulded in his thoughts, and were on the point to rush forth in
a torrent of speech. Still they came not, and Bigot again, to her
unutterable disgust, shied off like a full-blooded horse which starts
suddenly away from some object by the wayside and throws his rider
headlong on the ground. So again were dashed the ardent expectations of
Angelique.

She listened to the gallant and gay speeches of Bigot, which seemed to
flutter like birds round her, but never lit on the ground where she had
spread her net like a crafty fowler as she was, until she went almost
mad with suppressed anger and passionate excitement. But she kept on
replying with badinage light as his own, and with laughter so soft and
silvery that it seemed a gentle dew from Heaven, instead of the drift
and flying foam of the storm that was raging in her bosom.

She read and re-read glimpses of his hidden thoughts that went and came
like faces in a dream, and she saw in her imagination the dark, pleading
eyes and pale face of the lady of Beaumanoir. It came now like a
revelation, confirming a thousand suspicions that Bigot loved that
pale, sad face too well ever to marry Angelique des Meloises while its
possessor lived at Beaumanoir,--or while she lived at all!

And it came to that! In this walk with Bigot round the glorious garden,
with God's flowers shedding fragrance around them; with God's stars
shining overhead above all the glitter and illusion of the thousand
lamps, Angelique repeated to herself the terrific words, "Bigot loves
that pale, sad face too well ever to marry me while its possessor lives
at Beaumanoir--or while she lives at all!"

The thought haunted her! It would not leave her! She leaned heavily upon
his arm as she swept like a queen of Cyprus through the flower-bordered
walks, brushing the roses and lilies with her proud train, and treading,
with as dainty a foot as ever bewitched human