She was angry without reason, and she knew
it; but that made her still more angry, and with still less reason.
"Bigot!" said she, impetuously, as the Intendant rejoined her when
the half-hour had elapsed, "you asked me a question in the Castle of
St. Louis, leaning on the high gallery which overlooks the cliffs!
Do you remember it?"
"I do: one does not forget easily what one asks of a beautiful
woman, and still less the reply she makes to us," replied he,
looking at her sharply, for he guessed her drift.
"Yet you seem to have forgotten both the question and the reply,
Bigot. Shall I repeat them?" said she, with an air of affected
languor.
"Needless, Angelique! and to prove to you the strength of my memory,
which is but another name for the strength of my admiration, I will
repeat it: I asked you that night--it was a glorious night, the
bright moon shone full in our faces as we looked over the shining
river, but your eyes eclipsed all the splendor of the heavens--I
asked you to give me your love; I asked for it then, Angelique! I
ask for it now.
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