than they had been - "but I thought that - that we made a bargain."

"'Sh! mademoiselle, I implore you," I cried. "I take shame at the
memory of it. Almost as much shame as I take at the memory of that
other bargain which first brought me to Lavedan. The shame of the
former one I have wiped out - although, perchance, you think it not.
I am wiping out the shame of the latter one. It was unworthy in me,
mademoiselle, but I loved you so dearly that it seemed to me that
no matter how I came by you, I should rest content if I but won you.
I have since seen the error if it, the injustice of it. I will not
take what is not freely given. And so, farewell."

"I see, I see," she murmured, and ignored the hand that I held out.
"I am very glad of it, monsieur."

I withdrew my hand sharply. I took up my hat from the chair on
which I had cast it. She might have spared me that, I thought.
She need not have professed joy. At least she might have taken my
hand and parted in kindness.

"Adieu, mademoiselle!" I said again, as stiffly as might be, and I
turned towards the door.

"Monsieur!" she called after me. I halted.

"Mademoiselle?"

She stood demurely, with eyes downcast and hands folded. "I shall
be so lonely here."