“My dear Pauline, you are imaginative.  Kiss me.  You are a delightful creature.  I never spend an hour in your company but I discover some new grace in you.”

Her kisses were not to be had when she was angry.

“You lied to him and you have deceived me,” she said, still standing before him, her body erect, her hands clinched.

“It is not always advisable to speak the exact truth, you know that well enough, Pauline; but I have not deceived you.  Does a man deceive the woman he really loves?”

“The lie and the deceit are one,” she returned.  “You sent for this other woman, this Mademoiselle St. Clair.  It was not your servant’s plan.  Latour was a fool to believe you.”

“Was he?  My dear, wise Pauline, his point of view and yours are not the same.  You are jealous, whereas he—­”

“I stop at nothing when I am jealous,” she said.  “The sooner you discover that phase in my character the better for you, Lucien.”

“I discovered that after I had known you ten minutes,” laughed Lucien, “and I am not afraid.  Shall I tell you why?  I have not deceived you, nor have I any intention of doing so.  This Latour is too inquisitive, and inquisitiveness is always asking for a lie.  Latour got it and is quite satisfied.  Mademoiselle Pauline Vaison is a woman, a woman in love, and just because she is so, is suspicious.  All women in love are.  So I have not told her all my plans.  To complete them it was necessary to get Mademoiselle St. Clair to Paris, so I sent for her.”

“You are in love with her.  You—­”

“She is rich,” Bruslart answered.  “Her fortune is in her own hands.  Wait, Pauline.  Had I wanted to marry her, what was to prevent my crossing the frontier when so many of my friends and acquaintances did?  But I am in love with her fortune.  If I am to make myself felt in Paris, if I am to do what I have set my heart to accomplish, money I must have.  True, I am not penniless like some of our ragged patriotic comrades, but, believe me, power will eventually rest with the man who can scatter the most gold to the people.  That man I am scheming to be.”

“Therefore you would marry this woman,” said Pauline.

“Therefore I would obtain part of her fortune.”

“That is what I say; you would marry her.”

“No, I had not thought of that,” said Bruslart, carelessly.

“How, then, can you obtain it?”

“Once she is in Paris, there are many plans to choose from.  I have not yet decided which one to take; but certainly it will not be marriage.  She, too, is a woman in love, and such a woman will do much for a man.  A few marks of a pen and I am rich, free to work towards my end, free to help Mademoiselle St. Clair to return to Beauvais.  You say you heard all that Latour told me?”

“Everything.”

“Then you heard his advice concerning marriage.  Find a woman in Paris, as beautiful, more beautiful than this emigre aristocrat, a woman who is a patriot, a true daughter of France, marry her, prove yourself and see how the shouting crowds will welcome you.  Latour might have known this part of my scheme, so aptly did he describe it.  I have found the woman,” and he stretched out his hand to her.