It was difficult to define the flavour of that speech, but Renouard
received it with an austerely equivocal smile. The professor
stepping into the boat opened his parasol and sat down in the
stern-sheets waiting for the ladies. No sound of human voice broke
the fresh silence of the morning while they walked the broad path,
Miss Moorsom a little in advance of her aunt.

When she came abreast of him Renouard raised his head.

"Good-bye, Mr. Renouard," she said in a low voice, meaning to pass
on; but there was such a look of entreaty in the blue gleam of his
sunken eyes that after an imperceptible hesitation she laid her
hand, which was ungloved, in his extended palm.

"Will you condescend to remember me?" he asked, while an emotion
with which she was angry made her pale cheeks flush and her black
eyes sparkle.

"This is a strange request for you to make," she said exaggerating
the coldness of her tone.

"Is it? Impudent perhaps. Yet I am not so guilty as you think;
and bear in mind that to me you can never make reparation."

"Reparation? To you! It is you who can offer me no reparation for
the offence against my feelings--and my person; for what reparation
can be adequate for your odious and ridiculous plot so scornful in
its implication, so humiliating to my pride. No! I don't want to
remember you."