clutched at her
riding-habit of green velvet, as if preparing to depart, "you are not
yourself. I am beyond measure desolated that you should have so spoken
to me. We have been good friends, M. La Boulaye. Let us forget this
scene. Shall we?" Her tones grew seductively conciliatory.

La Boulaye half turned from her, and his smouldering eye fell upon "The
Discourses" lying on the grass. He stooped and picked up the volume.
The act might have seemed symbolical. For a moment he had cast aside
his creed to woo a woman, and now that she had denied him he returned to
Rousseau, and gathered up the tome almost in penitence at his momentary
defection.

"I am quite myself, Mademoiselle," he answered quietly. His cheeks were
flushed, but beyond that, his excitement seemed to have withered. "It
is you who yesternight, for one brief moment and again to-day--were not
yourself, and to that you owe it that I have spoken to you as I have
done."

Between these two it would seem as the humour of the one waned, that of
the other waxed. Her glance kindled anew at his last words.

"I?" she echoed. "I was not myself? What are you saying, Monsieur the
Secretary?"

"Last night, and again just now, you were so kind, you--you smiled so
sweetly--"

"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, angrily interrupting him. "See what you are
for all your high-sounding vaunts of yourself and your attributes! A
woman may not smile upon you, may not say one kind word to you, but
you must imagine you have made a conquest. Ma foi, you and yours do
not deserve to be treated as anything but vassals. When we show you a
kindness, see how you abuse it. We extend to you our little finger and
you instantly lay claim to the whole arm. Because last night I permitted
myself to exchange a jest with you, because I chance to be kind to you
again to-day, you repay me with insults!"

"Stop!" he cried, rousing himself once more. "That is too much to say,
Mademoiselle. To tell a woman that you love her is never to insult her.
To be loved is never to be slighted. Upon the meanest of His creatures
it is enjoined to love the same God whom the King loves, and there is
no insult to God in professing love for Him. Would you make a woman more
than that?"

"Monsieur, you put questions I have no mind to answer; you suggest
a discussion I have no inclination to pursue. For you and me let it
suffice that I account myself affronted by your words, your tone, and
your manner. You drive me to sa