Her pointed epithet, "You lie!" which would have been death for a
man to utter, made no dint on the polished armor of Bigot, although
he inly resolved that she should pay a woman's penalty for it.
He had heard that word from other pretty lips before, but it left no
mark upon a conscience that was one stain, upon a life that was one
fraud. Still his bold spirit rather liked this bold utterance from
an angry woman, when it was in his power by a word to change her
rage into the tender cooing of a dove.
Bigot was by nature a hunter of women, and preferred the excitement
of a hard chase, when the deer turns at bay and its capture gave him
a trophy to be proud of, to the dull conquest of a tame and easy
virtue, such as were most of those which had fallen in his way.
"Angelique!" said he, "this is perfect madness; what means this
burst of anger? Do you doubt the sincerity of my love for you?"
"I do, Bigot! I doubt it, and I deny it. So long as you keep a
mistress concealed at Beaumanoir, your pledge to me is false and
your love an insult.
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