dangerously beautiful in her agitation; she looked as if in love--but
with whom? Doubtless with him to whom she was writing. I began to feel
the fires of jealousy. I walked out of the room abruptly and crossed the
hall. I looked at the man who had brought the letter; he was in M. de la
Marche's livery. I had no further doubts; this, however, only increased
my rage. I returned to the drawing-room and threw open the door
violently. Edmee did not even turn her head; she continued writing. I
sat down opposite her, and stared at her with flashing eyes. She did
not deign to raise her own to mine. I even fancied that I noticed on
her ruby lips the dawn of a smile which seemed an insult to my agony.
At last she finished her letter and sealed it. I rose and walked towards
her, feeling strongly tempted to snatch it from her hands. I had learnt
to control myself somewhat better than of old; but I realized how, with
passionate souls, a single instant may destroy the labours of many days.

"Edmee," I said to her, in a bitter tone, and with a frightful grimace
that was intended to be a sarcastic smile, "would you like me to hand
this letter to M. de la Marche's lackey, and at the same time tell him
in a whisper at what time his master may come to the tryst?"

"It seems to me," she replied, with a calmness that exasperated me,
"that it was possible to mention the time in my letter, and that there
is no need to inform a servant of it."

"Edmee, you ought to be a little more considerate of me," I cried.

"That doesn't trouble me the least in the world," she replied.

And throwing me the letter she had received across the table she went
out to give the answer to the messenger herself. I do not know whether