auspicious moment had passed; that now, if he won her, it must
be by harsh means.

For she said: "Monsieur Doltaire, you have defeated yourself.
'Let no man put asunder' was my response to my husband's 'Whom God
hath joined,' when last I met him face to face. Nothing can alter
that while he lives, nor yet when he dies, for I have had such a
sorrowful happiness in him that if I were sure he were dead I would
never leave this holy place--never. But he lives, and I will keep my
vow. Holy Church has parted us, but yet we are not parted. You say
that to think of him now is wrong, reflects upon me. I tell you,
monsieur, that if it were a wrong a thousand times greater I would
do it. To me there can be no shame in following till I die the man
who took me honourably for his wife."

He made an impatient gesture and smiled ironically.

"Oh, I care not what you say or think," she went on. "I know not
of things canonical and legal; the way that I was married to him
is valid in his country and for his people. Bad Catholic you call
me, alas! But I am a true wife, who, if she sinned, sinned not
knowingly, and deserves not this tyranny and shame."

"You are possessed with a sad infatuation," he replied
persuasively. "You are not the first who has suffered so. It will
pass, and leave you sane--leave you to me. For you are mine; what
you felt a moment ago you will feel again, when this romantic
martyrdom of yours has wearied you."

"Monsieur Doltaire," she said, with a successful effort at