Part 50 (1/2)
”Am I cruel?” he asked. ”Forgive me, mademoiselle--forgive me, Marguerite.”
She held out her delicately gloved hand towards him; her face she turned a little away and one gathered that there were tears in her eyes which she did not wish him to see.
”Take off my glove, please,” she whispered. ”I did not think you would be so cruel even for a moment.”
He took her fingers in his, fingers which promptly returned his pressure. His right arm stole around her.
”Monsieur Sir Julien,” she continued very softly, ”please promise that you will speak to me no more now of Herr Freudenberg. Tell me that you are glad I have come. Say some more of those pretty things that you whispered to me in the Rat Mort.”
His arm tightened about her. She was powerless.
”Julien!” she murmured.
He laughed quietly. Suddenly she struggled to escape from him.
”Let me go!” she cried. ”Sir Julien, but you are rough. Monsieur!”
He flung her from him back into the chair. In his left hand he held the pistol he had taken from the bosom of her gown--a dainty little affair of ivory and silver. He turned it over curiously. She lay back in the chair where he had thrown her, gripping its sides with tremulous fingers, her eyes deep-set, distended, staring at him. He thrust the weapon into his pocket.
”Really,” he said, ”I thought better of Herr Freudenberg. Why doesn't he come himself?”
”Oh, he will come!” she answered.
”Will he?” Julien replied. ”I should have thought better of him if he had come first, instead of sending a woman to do his work.”
She sat up in the chair. Julien had known well how to rouse her.
”You do not think that he is afraid?” she cried. ”Afraid of you? Bah!
For the rest, it was I who insisted on coming. He was troubled. I knew why. I said to myself, 'It is a risk I will take. I will go to Sir Julien's rooms. I will shoot him. I will pretend that it was a love affair. I will go into court all with tears, I will wear my prettiest clothes, nothing indeed will happen. An affair of jealousy--a moment of madness. One takes account of these things. Then Herr Freudenberg himself has great friends here, friends in high places. He will see that nothing happens.'”
”A very pretty scheme,” Julien remarked sarcastically. ”Supposing, however, I turn the tables upon you, mademoiselle. You are here and I have taken away this little plaything. Would Herr Freudenberg be jealous if he knew, I wonder?”
She glanced at the door.
”Locked,” Julien continued grimly. ”Do you still wish me to come and make pretty speeches to you?” he added. ”You are certainly looking very charming, mademoiselle. Your gown is exquisite. What can I do more than echo what all Paris has said--that there is no one of her daughters more bewitching? Can you wonder if I lose my head a little when I find you here with me in my rooms--a visit, too, of pure affection?”
She rose to her feet. The patch of color upon her cheeks had become more vivid.
”You will let me go?” she faltered.
Julien unlocked the door.
”Mademoiselle,” he answered, ”I shall most certainly let you go. Permit me to thank you for the pleasure which your brief visit has afforded me.”
The door was opened before her. Julien stood on one side. The smile with which he dismissed her was half contemptuous, half kindly. Upon the threshold she hesitated.
”Sir Julien!”
”Mademoiselle Ixe?”