Indiana trembled in every limb. She knew so little of life that she believed resistance to be impossible; she was ready to concede from fear what she would refuse from love; but, as she struggled feebly in Raymon's arms, she said, in desperation: "So you are capable of using force with me?" Raymon paused, impressed with this moral resistance, which survived physical resistance. He hastily pushed her away. "Never!" he cried: "I would rather die than possess you except by your own will!" He threw himself on his knees, and all that the mind can supply in place of the heart, all the poesy that the imagination can impart to the ardor of the blood, he expressed in a fervent and dangerous entreaty. And when he saw that she did not surrender, he yielded to necessity and reproached her with not loving him; a commonplace expedient which he despised and which made him smile, with a feeling of something like shame at having to do with a woman so innocent as not to smile at it herself. That reproach went to Indiana's heart more swiftly than all the exclamations with which Raymon had embellished his discourse. But suddenly she remembered. "Raymon," she said, "the other, who loved you so dearly--of whom we were speaking just now--she refused you nothing, I suppose?" "Nothing!" exclaimed Raymon, annoyed by this inopportune reminder. "Instead of reminding me of her so continually, you would do well to make me forget how dearly she loved me!" "Listen!" rejoined Indiana, thoughtfully and gravely; "have a little courage, for I must say something more. Perhaps you have not been as guilty towards me as I thought. It would be sweet to me to be able to forgive you for what I considered a mortal insult. Tell me then--when I surprised you here--for whom did you come? for her or for me?" Raymon hesitated; then, as he thought that the truth would soon be known to Madame Delmare, that perhaps she knew it already, he answered: "For her." "Well, I prefer it so," she said sadly; "I prefer an infidelity to an insult. Be frank to the end, Raymon. How long had you been in my room when I came? Remember that Ralph knows all, and that, if I chose to question him----" "There is no need of Sir Ralph's testimony, madame. I had been here since the night before." "And you had passed the night in this room. Your silence is a sufficient answer." They both remained silent for some moments; then Indiana rose and was about to continue, when a sharp knock at the door checked the flow of the blood in her veins. Neither she nor Raymon dared to breathe. A paper was slipped under the door. It was a leaf from a note-book on which these words were scrawled in pencil, almost illegibly: "Your husband is here. "RALPH." XVIII "This is a wretchedly devised falsehood," said Raymon, as soon as the sound of Ralph's footsteps had died away. "Sir Ralph needs a lesson, and I will administer it in such shape----"