“But you will be seeing madame first?” inquired the girl, fearing the collision to which she had contributed, but lighter of soul since she had flashed the danger-signal.

“M.  Antonino first, and then your mistress,” replied he in a stern tone which put an end to the dialogue.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LAST APPEAL.

In the large room where Cesarine was to achieve her crowning act of treachery, she and her husband were closeted.  On the latter’s unruffled brow not even her feline gaze could read what a perfect acquaintance he possessed with all her past and her purposed moves.

“Your maid tells me that you wished to speak to me,” he said.

“It is necessary, on the eve of a change in our mode of life, so extreme as a home broken up in favor of a stay at a hotel.”

“I am listening to you,” he said curtly.

“If I were to say to you that I love you, what would be your answer?” she said, changing the subject and her tone entirely.

“Nothing!  I might wonder what new evil you intended to commit to my prejudice.  Pure curiosity for you can do nothing more with me.”

She was convinced of that, and she thrilled with all the irritation of a woman who has lost her power of fascination over even one man.

“Admitting that I cannot do you any harm,” she said, “others may and, perhaps a great deal.  Would you believe that I love you at least if my pledge of love consisted in my aiding you to repel the harm and to triumph over your enemies at the risk of the greatest danger to myself?”

He shook his head resolutely.

“What other proof do you want?”

He intimated that he could do without any aid from her.

“I am sincere, I swear it!” she exclaimed.

“On what can you swear?”

“It would appear that you, whom people rate as a saint, and so just, do not believe in repentance?”

“I do!”

“Then, I repent,” said she, rolling her eyes like Magdalen in a Guido picture.

“No; those repenting do not say so before they prove it—­they give the evidence and do not boast.”

“But what if I have no time to wait?” she said piteously.  “What if it is necessary for my soul’s sake and perhaps for yours, that I should tell you at once what I intended to exhibit gradually when I arrived? make the effort to believe me without delay, for one single minute may redeem my blackened life and save all to come.  Is it so hard for you to listen to me, and to believe me?” she wailed.  “It would only be renewing an old habit of yours, for you used to love me, and ardently, too!  The first kiss you ever gave to a woman, and the only ones you ever received from a woman, are mine! you see I do not doubt you, though appearances were against you when I returned to this house.  All your chastity—­enthusiasm—­energy, love and faith—­all were poured into this bosom.  Can these things be forgotten?  No, no, never!  I am sure that when a man like you loves a woman like me, her memory never leaves him.”