THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
open window looking into the night, and the lids which her scorn let down to hide her anger concealed but in part the smoldering light of her passion.
“It is preposterous, monsieur!” she said, chokingly. “I cannot! I will not!”
“And your promise, madame. Mistress Clerke will forget her promise?”
She looked about helplessly, as though seeking a way to escape. But Mornay was merciless.
“Perhaps, madame, you fear!” he said, ironically.
He had judged her aright. With a look that might have killed had Mornay been made of more tender stuff, she caught her gown upon her arm and swept past him out into the darkness of the terrace beyond.
The air was warm and fragrant, full of the first sweet freshness of the summer. The light of the moon sifted softly through the haze that had fallen over the gardens and trembled upon each dewy blade and leaf. It was so peaceful and quiet!—so far removed from rancor and
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