His real contempt for women was the lifeboat he trusted
in, which had carried himself and fortunes out of a hundred storms
and tempests of feminine wrath.
"I wore the precious pearl next my heart, as any gallant gentleman
should do," replied he blandly; "I would have worn it inside my
heart could I have shut it up there."
Bigot smiled in complacent self-approval at his own speech. Not so
Angelique! She was irritated by his general reference to the duty
of a gallant gentleman to the sex and not to his own special duty as
the admirer of herself.
Angelique was like an angry pantheress at this moment. The darts of
jealousy just planted by her two friends tore her side, and she felt
reckless both as to what she said and what she did. With a burst of
passion not rare in women like her, she turned her wrath full upon
him as the nearest object. She struck Bigot with her clenched hand
upon the breast, exclaiming with wild vehemence,--
"You lie! Francois Bigot, you never wore me next your heart,
although you said so! You wear the lady of Beaumanoir next your
heart.
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