“For Heaven’s sake!” cried Vera.

“Ah!” in a tone of deep reproach, “do not plead with me, mademoiselle; you have broken my heart.”

“And you have nearly broken the china,” murmured Vera.

“What is this miserable china that you talk about in comparison with my happiness?” and the vicomte made as though he would tear his hair out with both hands.

The comedy of the situation began to be too much for Vera’s self-control; another ten minutes of it, and she felt that she should become hysterical; all the more so because she knew very well that the whole thing was nothing but a piece of acting; with what object, however, she was at a loss to imagine.

“For goodness sake, do be reasonable, Monsieur D’Arblet; you know perfectly well that I never encouraged you, as you call it, for the very good reason that there has never been anything to encourage.  We have been very good friends, but never anything more.”

“Mademoiselle, you do me injustice.”

“On the contrary, I give you credit for a great deal more common sense, as a rule, than you seem disposed to evince to-day.  I am quite certain that you have never entertained any warmer feeling towards me than friendship.”

This was an injudicious statement.  Monsieur D’Arblet felt that his reputation as a galant homme and an adorer of the fair sex was impugned; he instantly flew into the most violent passion, and jumped about amongst the gipsy tables and the etageres, and the dainty little spindle-legged cabinets more vehemently than ever.

“I, not love you!  Lucien D’Arblet profess a sentiment which he does not experience! Ah! par exemple, Mademoiselle, c’est trop fort! Next you will say that I am a menteur, a fripon, a lache!  You will tell me that I have no honour, and no sense of the generosity due to a woman; that I am a brute and an imbecile,” and at every epithet he dashed his hands violently out in front of him, or thrust them wildly through his disordered locks.  The whole room shook, every ornament on every table shivered with the strength of his agitation.

“Oh, I will say any single thing you like,” cried Vera, “if only you will keep still——­”

“Do not insult me by denying my affection!”

“I will deny nothing,” said poor Vera, at her wits’ ends.  “If what I have said has pained you, I am sincerely sorry for it; but for Heaven’s sake control yourself, and—­and—­do go away!”

Then Monsieur D’Arblet stood still and looked at her fixedly and mournfully; his hands had dropped feebly by his side, there was an air of profound melancholy in his aspect; he regarded her with a searching intensity.  He was asking himself whether his agitation and his despair had produced the very slightest effect upon her; and he came to the conclusion they had not.