She let him speak without interruption; perhaps the same thought was in her mind as in Quennebert’s, who, himself a past master in the art of lying; was thinking—­

“The man does not believe a word of what he is saying.”

But the treasurer went on—­

“I can see that even now you doubt my sincerity.”

“Does my lord desire that his handmaiden should be blunt?  Well, I know that there is no truth in what you say.”

“Oh!  I can see that you imagine that among the distractions of the world I have kept no memory of you, and have found consolation in the love of less obdurate fair ones.  I have not broken in on your retirement; I have not shadowed your steps; I have not kept watch on your actions; I have not surrounded you with spies who would perhaps have brought me the assurance, ’If she quitted the world which outraged her, she was not driven forth by an impulse of wounded pride or noble indignation; she did not even seek to punish those who misunderstood her by her absence; she buried herself where she was unknown, that she might indulge in stolen loves.’  Such were the thoughts that came to me, and yet I respected your hiding-place; and to-day I am ready to believe you true, if you will merely say, ‘I love no one else!’”

Jeannin, who was as fat as a stage financier, paused here to gasp; for the utterance of this string of banalities, this rigmarole of commonplaces, had left him breathless.  He was very much dissatisfied with his performance; and ready to curse his barren imagination.  He longed to hit upon swelling phrases and natural and touching gestures, but in vain.  He could only look at Mademoiselle de Guerchi with a miserable, heart-broken air.  She remained quietly seated, with the same expression of incredulity on her features.

So there was nothing for it but to go on once more.

“But this one assurance that I ask you will not give.  So what I have—­been told is true:  you have given your love to him.”

She could not check a startled movement.

“You see it is only when I speak of him that I can overcome in you the insensibility which is killing me.  My suspicions were true after all:  you deceived me for his sake.  Oh! the instinctive feeling of jealousy was right which forced me to quarrel with that man, to reject the perfidious friendship which he tried to force upon me.  He has returned to town, and we shall meet!  But why do I say ‘returned’?  Perhaps he only pretended to go away, and safe in this retreat has flouted with impunity, my despair and braved my vengeance!”