re twisting my arm cruelly.
Will you not let go? Thank you!"

"You will not tell me who you are?"

"No."

"Nor what your object was in playing with my heart?"

"Perhaps I had best tell you the truth. Monsieur, it was a trap I set
for you that night in Paris, when I came dressed as a musketeer. My
love of mischief was piqued. I had heard so much about the fascinating
Chevalier du Cevennes and his conquests. There was Mademoiselle de
Longueville, Mademoiselle de Fontrailles, the little Coislin, and I
know not how many others. And you walked over their hearts in such a
cavalierly way, rumor had it, that I could not resist the temptation to
see what manner of man you were. You were only the usual lord of
creation, a trite pattern. You amused me, and I was curious to see how
long you would remain constant."

"Are you not also a trite pattern?"

"I constituted myself a kind of vengeance. Mademoiselle Catharine
expected you to establish her in the millinery. Have you done so?"

The Chevalier fell back from the table. This thrust utterly confused
and bewildered him. It was so groundless and unexpected.

"She is very plump, and her cheeks are like winter apples. She had at
one time been in my service, but I had reasons to discharge her. I
compliment you upon your taste. After kissing my hands, these,"
holding out those beautiful members of an exquisite anatomy, "you could
go and kiss the cheeks of a serving-wench! Monsieur, I come from a
proud and noble race. A man can not, after having kissed my hands,
press his lips to the cheeks of a Catharine and return again to me. I
wrote that letter to lead you a dance such as you would not soon
forget. And see! you did not trouble yourself to start to find me.
And a Catharine! Faugh! Her hands are large and red, her eyes are
bold; when she is thirty she will be fat and perhaps dispensing cheap
wine in a low cabaret. And you called me Rosalind between times and
signed your verses and letters Orlando! You quoted from Petrarch and
said I was your Laura. My faith! man is a curious animal. I have
been told that I am beautiful; and from me you turned to a Catharine!
I suspect she is lodged somewhere here in Quebec."

"A Catharine!" he repeated, wildly. The devil gathered up the reins.
"This is a mad, fantastic world! You kiss my handsome grey eyes a
thousand times, then? What rapture! Catharine? What a pretext! It
has no saving grace. You are mad, I