THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
dark and serious, looking quietly down at her.
She made no reply, but sat rigidly, her arm upon the back of the bench, the seat of which her skirts had completely covered. There was no indication of the turmoil that raged within her but the tapping of her silken shoe upon the graveled walk.
“How have I offended, madame?” he continued. “Is it a fault to admire? Is my tribute a sin? Is my service a crime? Have I not the right of any other of your poor prisoners—to do you honor from afar?”
“From afar?” she asked, coldly satirical.
Mornay shrugged his shoulders with a pretty gesture.
“Ma foi, madame. My mind cannot imagine a greater distance between us—”
“Monsieur’s imagination is not without limits,” she interrupted; and then, after a pause, “In England a lady is allowed the privilege of choosing her own following.”
“In France,” he replied, with an inclination of the head—“in France the following confers an honor by choosing the lady.”
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