“My lady ...  Sue,” he said, feeling half-dazed, bruised and crushed by the terrible moral blow, which he had just received, “I ...  I do not quite understand.  Will you deign to explain?”

“There is naught to explain,” she retorted coldly.  “Prince Amede d’Orleans loves me and I have plighted my troth to him.”

“Nay!  I entreat your ladyship,” he said, feeling—­knowing the while, how useless it was to make an appeal against the infatuation of a hot-headed and impulsive girl, yet speaking with the courage which ofttimes is born of despair, “I beg of you, on my knees to listen.  This foreign adventurer ...”

“Silence!” she retorted proudly, and drawing back from him, for of a truth he had sunk on his knees before her, “an you desire to be my friend, you must not breathe one word of slander against the man I love. ...”

Then, as he said nothing, realizing, indeed, how futile would be any effort or word from him, she said, with growing enthusiasm, whilst her glowing eyes fixed themselves upon the gloom which had enveloped the mysterious apparition of her lover: 

“Prince Amede d’Orleans is the grandest, most selfless patriot this world hath ever known.  For the sake of France, of tyrannized, oppressed France, which he adores, he has sacrificed everything! his position, his home, his wealth and vast estates:  he is own kinsman to King Louis, yet he is exiled from his country whilst a price is set upon his head, because he cannot be mute whilst he sees tyranny and oppression grind down the people of France.  He could return to Paris to-day a rich and free man, a prince among his kindred,—­if he would but sacrifice that for which he fights so bravely:  the liberty of France!”

“Sue! my adored lady,” he entreated, “in the name of Heaven listen to me....  You do believe, do you not, that I am your friend? ...  I would give my life for you....  I swear to you that you have been deceived and tricked by this adventurer, who, preying upon your romantic imagination ...”

“Silence, master, an you value my friendship!” she commanded.  “I will not listen to another word.  Nay! you should be thankful that I deal not more harshly with you—­that I make allowances for your miserable jealousy....  Oh! why did you make me say that,” she added with one of those swift changes of mood, which were so characteristic of her, and with sudden contrition, for an involuntary moan had escaped his lips.  “In the name of Heaven, go—­go now I entreat ... leave me to myself ... lest anger betray me into saying cruel things ...  I am safe—­quite safe ...  I entreat you to let me return to the house alone.”

Her voice sounded more and more broken as she spoke:  sobs were evidently rising in her throat.  He pulled himself together, feeling that it were unmanly to worry her now, when emotion was so obviously overmastering her.