frigid. M. de Nueil rose to his feet, but he stood waiting. Mme. de
Beauseant flung another glance at him. "Well, why do you not go?" she
seemed to say.

There was such cutting irony in that glance that Gaston grew white as
if he were about to faint. Tears came into his eyes, but he would not
let them fall, and scorching shame and despair dried them. He looked
back at Madame de Beauseant, and a certain pride and consciousness of
his own worth was mingled with his humility; the Vicomtesse had a
right to punish him, but ought she to use her right? Then he went out.

As he crossed the ante-chamber, a clear head, and wits sharpened by
passion, were not slow to grasp the danger of his situation.

"If I leave this house, I can never come back to it again," he said to
himself. "The Vicomtesse will always think of me as a fool. It is
impossible that a woman, and such a woman, should not guess the love
that she has called forth. Perhaps she feels a little, vague,
involuntary regret for dismissing me so abruptly.--But she could not
do otherwise, and she cannot recall her sentence. It rests with me to
understand her."

At that thought Gaston stopped short on the flight of steps with an
exclamation; he turned sharply, saying, "I have forgotten something,"
and went back to the salon. The lackey, all respect for a baron and
the rights of property, was completely deceived by the natural
utterance, and followed him. Gaston returned quietly and unannounced.
The Vicomtesse, thinking that the intruder was the servant, looked up
and beheld M. de Nueil.