“Begin, then, Monsieur; set an example for me.”

The lines in his face deepened.  All the pain of the tragedy came back.  “Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be disturbed!” He struggled and cast aside the gloom.

“I have been accused of conspiracy, Madame.”

“Conspiring?”

“Yes; for my happiness.”

Madame was plainly disappointed.

“I was exiled from court upon a grave accusation.”

“You were recalled, and all your honors restored.”

“Since you know all, Madame, it is needless to explain.  What most concerns me this morning is your belief that I love you.”

“Listen:  there’s the oriole.”

“How about Madame Oriole; does she regret the lover of last year?”

“Very good, Monsieur.  You are daily recovering your wit.  And you used to be very witty when you were not making extravagant love.”

“A man does not weep when he loves and the object of his love simulates kindness.”

“I should like to test this love,” reflectively.

“Test it, Diane; only test it!” He was all eagerness.  He flung his hat to the ground, and with his arm along the back of the seat he leaned toward her.  The heron feather remained unharmed; it was a prophetic sign, only he did not realize it.  He could realize nothing save that the glorious beauty of her face was near, and that to-day there was nothing else in the world.  He was young, and youth forgets overnight.

Madame, with the knuckle of a finger against her lips, posed as if ruminating, when in truth she was turning over in her mind the advisability of telling him all, laughing, and leaving him.  And suddenly she grew afraid.  What would he do? for there was some latent power in this man she hesitated to rouse.  She hesitated, and the opportunity was gone.  For her thought swerved to this:  if only he had not such handsome eyes!  She dropped her hand.

“I will test this love,” she said, with malice bubbling in her own lovely orbs.  “The Comte d’Herouville has grievously offended me.  Will you challenge him?” She meant nothing by this, save to gain time.

The Chevalier paled, recalling D’Herouville’s threats.  “He departs the scene;” but the smile was on his lips alone.

“Then, there is the Vicomte d’Halluys; he, too, has offended me.”

“The vicomte?” Challenge the vicomte, who had put D’Herouville in the hospital that night of the fatal supper?

“Ah!” said madame; “you hesitate!  And yet you ask me to put you to the test!”

“I was weighing the matter of preference,” with a wave of the hand; “whether to challenge the vicomte first, or D’Herouville.  Give me the rest of the list.”

“Monsieur, I admire the facility with which you adapt yourself to circumstances,” scornfully.  “You knew that I was but playing.  I am fully capable of repaying any insolence offered to me, whether from D’Herouville, the vicomte . . . or yourself.”