“Why do you try to hurt my feelings?” she asked.

“For the same reason for which you call me dear at the end of a sentence like that:  for want of something more amusing to do.  You don’t pretend to make me believe that you do it for any sort of reason that a decent person would confess to.”

The colour had gone from her face; but a fit of wickedness was on me and I pursued, “What are the motives of your speeches?  What prompts your actions?  On your own showing your life seems to be a continuous running away.  You have just run away from Paris.  Where will you run to-morrow?  What are you everlastingly running from—­ or is it that you are running after something?  What is it?  A man, a phantom—­or some sensation that you don’t like to own to?”

Truth to say, I was abashed by the silence which was her only answer to this sally.  I said to myself that I would not let my natural anger, my just fury be disarmed by any assumption of pathos or dignity.  I suppose I was really out of my mind and what in the middle ages would have been called “possessed” by an evil spirit.  I went on enjoying my own villainy.

“Why aren’t you in Tolosa?  You ought to be in Tolosa.  Isn’t Tolosa the proper field for your abilities, for your sympathies, for your profusions, for your generosities—­the king without a crown, the man without a fortune!  But here there is nothing worthy of your talents.  No, there is no longer anything worth any sort of trouble here.  There isn’t even that ridiculous Monsieur George.  I understand that the talk of the coast from here to Cette is that Monsieur George is drowned.  Upon my word I believe he is.  And serve him right, too.  There’s Therese, but I don’t suppose that your love for your sister . . .”

“For goodness’ sake don’t let her come in and find you here.”

Those words recalled me to myself, exorcised the evil spirit by the mere enchanting power of the voice.  They were also impressive by their suggestion of something practical, utilitarian, and remote from sentiment.  The evil spirit left me and I remained taken aback slightly.

“Well,” I said, “if you mean that you want me to leave the room I will confess to you that I can’t very well do it yet.  But I could lock both doors if you don’t mind that.”

“Do what you like as long as you keep her out.  You two together would be too much for me to-night.  Why don’t you go and lock those doors?  I have a feeling she is on the prowl.”

I got up at once saying, “I imagine she has gone to bed by this time.”  I felt absolutely calm and responsible.  I turned the keys one after another so gently that I couldn’t hear the click of the locks myself.  This done I recrossed the room with measured steps, with downcast eyes, and approaching the couch without raising them from the carpet I sank down on my knees and leaned my forehead on its edge.  That penitential attitude had but