going to derange his cherished plan; and unreasonable anger awoke in the man who had been more than willing to forgive a real injury.
“Will you explain?” he said between his teeth. And his eyes glittered unpleasantly. “What do you mean?”
“You have other letters,” she cried, “besides those which I stole.”
“Which you stole?” He repeated the words without passion. Enraged by this unexpected turn, he hardly knew how to take it.
“Yes, I!” she cried. “I! I took them from under your pillow!”
He was silent a minute. Then he laughed and shook his head.
“It will not do, Madame,” he said, his lip curling. “You are clever, but you do not deceive me.”
“Deceive you?”
“Yes.”
“You do not believe that I took the letters?” she cried in great amazement.
“No,” he answered, “and for a good reason.” He had hardened his heart now. He had chosen his line, and he would not spare her.
“Why, then?” she cried. “Why?”
“For the best of all reasons,” he answered. “Because the person who stole the letters was seized in the act of making his escape, and is now in my power.”
“The person—who stole the letters?” she faltered.
“Yes, Madame.”
“Do you mean M. de Tignonville?”
“You have said it.”
She turned white to the lips, and trembling, could with difficulty sit her horse. With an effort she pulled it up, and he stopped also. Their attendants were some way ahead.
