have often thoughtlessly given to the flowers in your garden. I loved
you truly; I love you still. Catharine is a poor pretext. There is
something you have not told me. Say truthfully that your belief is
that I was secretly paying court to that poor Madame de Brissac, and
that I wore the grey cloak that terrible night; that I fled from France
because of these things. You say that you are about to become a nun.
You do, then, believe in God. Well," releasing her, "I swear to you by
that God that I never saw Madame de Brissac; that I was far away from
Paris on the nineteenth of February. You have wantonly and cruelly
destroyed the only token I had which was closely associated with my
love of you. This locket means nothing." He pulled it forth, took the
chain from round his neck. "You never wore it; it is nothing. I do
not need it to recall your likeness. Since I have been the puppet,
since even God mocks me by bringing you here, take the locket."

She looked, not at the locket nor at the hand which held it, but into
his eyes. In hers the wrath was gone; there was even a humorous
sparkle under the heavy lashes. She made no sign that she saw the
jeweled miniature. She was thinking how strong he was, how handsomely
dignity and pride sat upon his face.

"Will you take it?" he repeated.

Her hands went slowly behind her back.

"Does this mean that, having lain upon my heart for more than a year,
it is no longer of value to you?" He laid the chain and locket upon
the table. "Yesterday I had thought my cup was full." The mask lay
crumpled at his feet, and he recovered it absently. "You?" he cried,
suddenly, as the picture came back. He looked at the mask, then at