She replied, with a heightened colour, "Yes, I hold out the hope of thinking better of you—as you shall behave by me in this matter."
On the handsome face, to her so much more unpleasant than ugliness, there again gllttered that smile devoid of all heart-warmth, in which eyes and teeth seemed to flash simultaneously a cold brilliant light, and die out, leaving the countenance darker than before. They had reached a flight of steps which led down by a short cut into the hotel garden.
"I am going back to my sick friend," she said, "so I will wish you good-bye here, monsieur."
"And I shall not see you again, mademoiselle?"
"Probably not. I seldom leave my friend's room."
"This, then, is 'farewell,' till I see you in Paris?"
"Yes. It is farewell, monsieur."
"You will shake hands with me?"
She extended a frigid hand, and he grasped it, held it for a moment, and then raising his hat with a flourish, turned and walked rapidly down the road, while she slowly descended the steps to the left.
Melchior was a vain man, but he was no fool. He knew that if what she said as to having means of her own was true, then his chances of success with her were greatly reduced. His wealth was an all-potent argument to the impecunious; it would lose some of its weight when applied to one with a competence. And then he was going away! She would no longer be under the spell of his personal charm. He felt decidedly less sanguine when he descended than when he had mounted the hill.
