I have no right....'
She shook her head, then with a sudden flash of amusement, or fantasy--'I
agree, Monsieur! on a condition. To prove your penitence, you shall bring
it to me yourself.'
I professed that her favour overpowered me. She named an hour when she
would be at home: an address in the Avenue des Champs Elysees, which I
noted on my tablets.
'Not adieu then, Monsieur! but _au revoir_.'
I bowed perplexedly, holding the curtain aside to let her sweep through;
and once more she turned back, gathering up her voluminous train, to repeat
with a glance and accent, which I found mystifying: 'Remember, Monsieur! It
is only _au revoir_.'
That last glimpse of her, with the strange mockery and an almost elfish
malice in her fine eyes, went home with me later to cause vague disquiet
and fresh suspicion of her truth. The spell of her extraordinary, personal
charm removed, doubt would assert itself. Was she quite sincere? Was
her fascination not a questionable one? Might not that almost childish
outburst of a grief so touching, and at the time convincing, be after all
factitious; the movement of a born actress and enchantress of men, quick
to seize as by a nice professional instinct the opportunity of an effect?
Had her whole attitude been a deliberate pose, a sort of trick? The
sudden changes in her subtile voice, the under current of mockery in an
invitation which seemed inconsequent, put me on my guard, reinforced all
my deep-seated prejudices against the candor of the feminine soul.
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