She had held the man motionless and staring. When she ended, he got to
his feet and came near to her. There was a curious look in his face,
half struggle, half mysterious purpose. "The way is easy to a hundred
times as much," he said, in a low meaning voice, and his eyes boldly held
hers. "You are doing a chivalrous sort of thing that only a woman would
do--for duty; do something for another reason: for what a woman would do
--for the blood of youth that is in her." He reached out a hand to lay
it on her arm. "Ask of me what you will, if you but put your hand in
mine and--"

"Monsieur," she said, pale and gasping, "do you think so ill of me then?
Do I seem to you like--!" She turned away, her eyes dry and burning, her
body trembling with shame.

"You are here alone with me at night," he persisted. "It would not be
easy to--"

"Death would be easy, Monsieur," she said calmly and coldly. "My husband
tried to kill you. You would do--ah, but let me pass!" she said, with a
sudden fury. "You--if you were a million times richer, if you could ruin
me for ever, do you think--"

"Hush, Madame," he said, with a sudden change of voice and a manner all
reverence. "I do not think. I spoke only to hear you speak in reply:
only to know to the uttermost what you were. Madame," he added, in a
shaking voice, "I did not know that such a woman lived. Madame, I could
have sworn there was none in the world." Then in a quicker, huskier note
he added: "Eighteen years ago a woman nearly spoiled my life. She was
as beautiful as you, but her heart was tainted. Since then I have never
believed in any woman--never till now. I have said that all were