am mad; the world is one of those
Italian panoramas! A thousand kisses, Diane . . . No; you have ceased
to be the huntress. You are Daphne. Well, I will play Apollo to your
Daphne. Let us see if you will change into laurel!" Lightly he leaped
the table, and she was locked in his arms. "What! daughter of Perseus
and Terra, you are still in human shape? Ah! then the gods themselves
are lies!"

She said nothing, but there was fear and rage in her eyes; and her
heart beat furiously against his.

Presently he pressed her from him with a pressure gentle but steady.
"Have no fear, Diane, or Daphne, or whatever you may be pleased to call
yourself. I am a gentleman. I will not take by force what you would
not willingly give. I have never played with a woman's heart nor with
a man's honor. And as for Catharine, I laugh. It is true that I
kissed her cheeks. I had been drinking, and the wine was still in my
head. I had left you. My heart was light and happy. I would have
kissed a spaniel, had a spaniel crossed my path instead of a Catharine.
There was no more taint to those kisses I gave to her than to those you
have often thoughtlessly given to the flowers in your garden. I loved
you truly; I love you still. Catharine is a poor pretext. There is
something you have not told me. Say truthfully that your belief is
that I was secretly paying court to that poor Madame de Brissac, and
that I wore the grey cloak that terrible night; that I fled from France
because of these things. You say that you are about to become a nun.
You do, then, believe in God. Well," releasing her, "I swear to you by
that God that I never saw Madame de Brissac; that I was far away from
Paris on the nineteenth of February. You have wantonly and cruelly
destroyed the only token I had which was closely associated with my
love of you. This locket means nothing." He pulled it forth, took the
chain from round his neck. "You never wore it; it is nothing. I do
not need it to recall your likeness. Since I have been the puppet,
since even God mocks me by bringing you here, take the locket."

She looked, not at the locket nor at the hand which held it, but into
his eyes. In hers the wrath was gone; there was even a humorous
sparkle under the heavy lashes. She made no sign that she saw the
jeweled miniature. She was thinking how strong he was, how handsomely
dignity and pride sat upon his face.

"Will you take it?" he repeated.

Her han