'
'Quick, Louis!' Mademoiselle exclaimed, 'the cognac, if you have
any there! I am sure that you are--still feeling ill, Monsieur.'
'No, I thank you,' I muttered hoarsely, making an effort to
recover myself. 'I am quite well. It was--an old wound that
sometimes touches me.'
CHAPTER IV
MADAME AND MADEMOISELLE
To be frank, however, it was not the old wound that touched me so
nearly, but Madame's words; which, finishing what Clon's sudden
appearance in the garden had begun, went a long way towards
hardening me and throwing me back into myself. I saw with
bitterness--what I had perhaps forgotten for a moment--how great
was the chasm that separated me from these women; how impossible
it was that we could long think alike; how far apart in views, in
experience, in aims we were. And while I made a mock in my heart
of their high-flown sentiments--or thought I did--I laughed no
less at the folly which had led me to dream, even for a, moment,
that I could, at my age, go back--go back and risk all for a
whim, a scruple, the fancy of a lonely hour.
I daresay something of this showed in my face; for Madame's eyes
mirrored a dim reflection of trouble as she looked at me, and
Mademoiselle talked nervously and at random.
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