“He did not act as if he were much in love,” said Jacqueline.

“Because he went away when your family thought he was about to make his formal proposal?  Not all men are marrying men, my dear, nor have all women that vocation.  Men fall in love all the same.”

“Do you think, then, that when a man knows he has no intention of marrying he should pay court to a young girl?  I think I told you at the time that he had paid court to me, and that he afterward—­how shall I say it?—­basely deserted me.”

The sharp and thrilling tone in which Jacqueline said this amused Madame Strahlberg.

“What big words, my dear!  No, I don’t remember that you ever said anything of the sort to me before.  But you are wrong.  As we grow older we lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words.  They do no good.  In your place I should be touched by the thought that a man so charming had been faithful to me.”

“Faithful!” cried Jacqueline, her dark eyes flashing into the cat-like eyes of Madame Strahlberg.

Wanda looked down, and fastened a ribbon at her waist.

“Ever since we have been here,” she said, “he has been talking of you.”

“Really—­for how long?”

“Oh, if you must know, for the last two weeks.”

“It is just a fortnight since you wrote and asked me to stay with you,” said Jacqueline, coldly and reproachfully.

“Oh, well—­what’s the harm?  Suppose I did think your presence would increase the attractions of Monaco?”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I never write a word more than is necessary; you know how lazy I am.  And also because, I may as well confess, it might have scared you off, you are so sensitive.”

“Then you meant to take me by surprise?” said Jacqueline, in the same tone.

“Oh! my dear, why do you try to quarrel with me?” replied Madame Strahlberg, stopping suddenly and looking at her through her eyeglass.  “We may as well understand what you mean by a free and independent life.”

And thereupon ensued an address to which Jacqueline listened, leaning one hand on a balustrade of that enchanted garden, while the voice of the serpent, as she thought, was ringing in her ears.  Her limbs shook under her—­her brain reeled.  All her hopes of success as a singer on the stage Madame Strahlberg swept away, as not worth a thought.  She told her that, in her position, had she meant to be too scrupulous, she should have stayed in the convent.  Everything to Jacqueline seemed to dance before her eyes.  The evening closed around them, the light died out, the landscape, like her life, had lost its glow.  She uttered a brief prayer for help, such a prayer as she had prayed in infancy.  She whispered it in terror, like a cry in extreme danger.  She was more frightened by Wanda’s wicked words than she had been by M. de Talbrun or by M. de Cymier.  She ceased to know what she was saying till the last words, “You have good sense and you will think about it,” met her ear.