"I can not comprehend how you dared return," Madame resumed.
"One who watches over my affairs has informed me of your
dishonorable act."
"What do you call a dishonorable act?" Maurice inquired quietly.
"One who breaks his sacred promise!" quickly.
The prisoner laughed maliciously. Madame had answered the
question as he hoped she would. "Chickens come home to roost.
What do you say to that, my lord?" to the Englishman.
This time it was not the prisoner's cheeks which reddened. Even
Madame was forced to look away, for if this reply touched the
Englishman it certainly touched her as deeply. Incidentally, she
was asking herself why she had permitted the Englishman to
possess her lips, hers, which no man save her father had ever
possessed before. A kiss, that was all it had been, yet the
memory of it was persistent, annoying, embarrassing. In the
spirit of play--a spirit whose origin mystified her--she had
given the man something which she never could regain, a particle
of her pride.
Besides, this was not all; she had in that moment given up her
right to laugh at him when the time came; now she would not be
able to laugh.
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