idle in her lap.

"Roxalanne," I murmured very gently, and my tone, my touch, and the
use of her name drove her eyes for refuge behind their lids again.
A flush spread upon the ivory pallor of her face, to fade as swiftly,
leaving it very white. Her bosom rose and fell in agitation, and
the little hand I held trembled in my grasp. There was a moment's
silence. Not that I had need to think or choose my words. But
there was a lump in my throat - aye, I take no shame in confessing
it, for this was the first time that a good and true emotion had
been vouchsafed me since the Duchesse de Bourgogne had shattered
my illusions ten years ago.

"Roxalanne," I resumed presently, when I was more master of myself,
"we have been good friends, you and I, since that night when I
climbed for shelter to your chamber, have we not?"

"But yes, monsieur," she faltered.

"Ten days ago it is. Think of it - no more than ten days. And it
seems as if I had been months at Lavedan, so well have we become
acquainted. In these ten days we have formed opinions of each other.
But with this difference, that whilst mine are right, yours are
wrong. I have come to know you for the sweetest, gentlest saint in
all this world. Would to God I had known you earlier! It might
have been very different; I might have been - I would have been -
different, and I would not have done what I have done. You have
come to know me for an unfortunate but honest gentleman. Such am
I not. I am under false colours here, mademoiselle. Unfortunate
I may be - at least, of late I seem to have become so. Honest I