"What is impossible?"

"You know well. I am not a mere brute. The only thing that can redeem
this life is love."

"That is true," she said, coldly. "What then?"

"You do not redeem it. We must part."

She laughed fitfully. "We must--?"

She leaned towards him.

"To-morrow evening you will go back to Paris. To-night we part, however:
that is, our relations cease."

"I shall go from here when it pleases me, Gaston!"

His voice came low and stern, but courteous:

"You must go when I tell you. Do you think I am the weaker?"

He could see her colour flying, her fingers lacing and interlacing.

"Aren't you afraid to tell me that?" she asked.

"Afraid? Of my life--you mean that? That you will be as common as that?
No: you will do as I tell you."

He fixed his eyes on hers, and held them. She sat, looking. Presently