"The voice too, even your voice is changed," he said anxiously. "Stay, surely I am the victim of no juggling snare. It is—it is Valerie."
The little boudoir was only lighted by the wood fire burning on the low hearth. He drew her towards the blaze, and looked her full in the face.
"You would scarcely believe me," he said; "but for the moment I half doubted if it were really you. The false alarm, the hurried journey, one thing and another have upset me so completely, that you seemed changed—altered; I can scarcely tell you how, but altered very much."
She seated herself in the easy-chair by the hearth. There was an embroidered velvet footstool at her feet, and he placed himself on this, and sat looking up in her face. She laid her slender hands on his dark hair, and looked straight into his eyes. Who shall read her thoughts at this moment? She had learnt to despise him, but she had never ceased to love him. She had cause to hate him; but she could scarcely have told whether the bitter anguish which rent her heart were nearer akin to love or hate.
"Pshaw, Gaston!" she exclaimed, "you are full of silly fancies to-night. And I, you see, do not offer to reproach you once for the uneasiness you have caused me. See how readily I accept your excuse for your absence, and never breathe one doubt of its truth. Now, were I a jealous or suspicious woman, I might have a hundred doubts. I might think you did not love me, and fancy that your absence was a voluntary one. I might even be so foolish as to picture you with another whom you loved better than me."
"Valerie!" he said, reproachfully, raising her small hand to his lips.
"Nay," she cried, with a light laugh, "this might be the thought of a jealous woman. But could I think so of you, Gaston?"
"Hark!" he said, starting and rising hastily; "did you not hear something?
"What?"
"A rustling sound by that door—the door of your dressing-room. Finette is not there, is she? I left her in the anteroom below."
"No, no, Gaston; there is no one there; this is another of your silly fancies."
He glanced uneasily towards the door, but re-seated himself at her feet, and looked once more upward to the proudly beautiful face. Valerie did not look at her companion, but at the fire. Her dark eyes were fixed upon the blaze, and she seemed almost unconscious of Gaston de Lancy's presence.
