“I shall have nothing to do with her happiness,” he repeated doggedly.

She stood close to him, with a look intently fixed on his face.  “Are you afraid?” she asked with one of her mocking flashes.

“Afraid?”

“Of not being able to make it up to her—?”

Their eyes met, and he returned her look steadily.

“No; if I had the chance, I believe I could.”

“I know you could!” she exclaimed.

“That’s the worst of it,” he said with a cheerless laugh.

“The worst—?”

“Don’t you see that I can’t deceive her?  Can’t trick her into marrying me now?”

Madame de Treymes continued to hold his eyes for a puzzled moment after he had spoken; then she broke out despairingly:  “Is happiness never more to you, then, than this abstract standard of truth?”

Durham reflected.  “I don’t know—­it’s an instinct.  There doesn’t seem to be any choice.”

“Then I am a miserable wretch for not holding my tongue!”

He shook his head sadly.  “That would not have helped me; and it would have been a thousand times worse for her.”

“Nothing can be as bad for her as losing you!  Aren’t you moved by seeing her need?”

“Horribly—­are not you?” he said, lifting his eyes to hers suddenly.

She started under his look.  “You mean, why don’t I help you?  Why don’t I use my influence?  Ah, if you knew how I have tried!”

“And you are sure that nothing can be done?”

“Nothing, nothing:  what arguments can I use?  We abhor divorce—­we go against our religion in consenting to it—­and nothing short of recovering the boy could possibly justify us.”

Durham turned slowly away.  “Then there is nothing to be done,” he said, speaking more to himself than to her.

He felt her light touch on his arm.  “Wait!  There is one thing more—­” She stood close to him, with entreaty written on her small passionate face.  “There is one thing more,” she repeated.  “And that is, to believe that I am deceiving you again.”

He stopped short with a bewildered stare.  “That you are deceiving me—­about the boy?”

“Yes—­yes; why shouldn’t I?  You’re so credulous—­the temptation is irresistible.”

“Ah, it would be too easy to find out—­”

“Don’t try, then!  Go on as if nothing had happened.  I have been lying to you,” she declared with vehemence.

“Do you give me your word of honour?” he rejoined.

“A liar’s?  I haven’t any!  Take the logic of the facts instead.  What reason have you to believe any good of me?  And what reason have I to do any to you?  Why on earth should I betray my family for your benefit?  Ah, don’t let yourself be deceived to the end!” She sparkled up at him, her eyes suffused with mockery; but on the lashes he saw a tear.

He shook his head sadly.  “I should first have to find a reason for your deceiving me.”