"Come; is she
beautiful?"
"Yes." These questions disturbed him.
"Certainly she must be worthy or you would not love her. She is
rich?"
"That does not matter; I am." He was wishing that Maurice would
hurry back; the desire to fly was returning.
"And she rejected you and sent you to the army?"
"She has not rejected me, though I dare say she would, had I the
presumption to ask her."
"A faint heart, they say--"
"My heart is not faint; it is my tongue." He rose and wandered
about the room. Her breath was like orris, and went to his head
like wine.
"Monsieur," she said, "is it possible that you have succumbed to
the charms of Madame the countess?"
He laughed. "One may admire exquisite bric-a-brac without loving
it."
"Bric-a-brac! Poor Elsa!" and Madame laughed. "If it were the
countess I could aid you."
"Love is not merchandise, to traffic with."
Madame's cheeks grew warm. Sometimes the trick of fence is
beaten down by a tyro's stroke.
"Eh, bien, since it is not the countess--"
He came toward her so swiftly that instinctively she rose and
moved to the opposite side of her chair.
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