“I wish to speak of him no more than I must.  After this, I trust never to speak of him again.  Before the lines of our lives crossed, I knew him for what he was, I knew the report of him that ran the countryside.  Even then I found him detestable.  You heard him allude last night to the unfortunate La Binet.  You heard him plead, in extenuation of his fault, his mode of life, his rearing.  To that there is no answer, I suppose.  He conforms to type.  Enough!  But to me, he was the embodiment of evil, just as you have always been the embodiment of good; he was the embodiment of sin, just as you are the embodiment of purity.  I had enthroned you so high, Aline, so high, and yet no higher than your place.  Could I, then, suffer that you should be dragged down by ambition, could I suffer the evil I detested to mate with the good I loved?  What could have come of it but your own damnation, as I told you that day at Gavrillac?  Because of that my detestation of him became a personal, active thing.  I resolved to save you at all costs from a fate so horrible.  Had you been able to tell me that you loved him it would have been different.  I should have hoped that in a union sanctified by love you would have raised him to your own pure heights.  But that out of considerations of worldly advancement you should lovelessly consent to mate with him...  Oh, it was vile and hopeless.  And so I fought him — a rat fighting a lion — fought him relentlessly until I saw that love had come to take in your heart the place of ambition.  Then I desisted.”

“Until you saw that love had taken the place of ambition!” Tears had been gathering in her eyes whilst he was speaking.  Now amazement eliminated her emotion.  “But when did you see that?  When?”

“I — I was mistaken.  I know it now.  Yet, at the time... surely, Aline, that morning when you came to beg me not to keep my engagement with him in the Bois, you were moved by concern for him?”

“For him!  It was concern for you,” she cried, without thinking what she said.

But it did not convince him.  “For me?  When you knew — when all the world knew what I had been doing daily for a week!”

“Ah, but he, he was different from the others you had met.  His reputation stood high.  My uncle accounted him invincible; he persuaded me that if you met nothing could save you.”

He looked at her frowning.

“Why this, Aline?” he asked her with some sternness.  “I can understand that, having changed since then, you should now wish to disown those sentiments.  It is a woman’s way, I suppose.”

“Oh, what are you saying, Andre?  How wrong you are!  It is the truth I have told you!”

“And was it concern for me,” he asked her, “that laid you swooning when you saw him return wounded from the meeting?  That was what opened my eyes.”

“Wounded?  I had not seen his wound.  I saw him sitting alive and apparently unhurt in his caleche, and I concluded that he had killed you as he had said he would.  What else could I conclude?”