Burr did not seem disposed to press his advantage, and treated the incident as the most matter-of-course affair in the world. He offered an arm to each lady, with the air of a well-bred gentleman who offers a necessary support; and each took it, because neither wished, under the circumstances, to refuse. He walked along leisurely homeward, talking in that easy, quiet, natural way in which he excelled, addressing no very particular remark to either one, and at the door of the cottage took his leave, saying, as he bowed, that he hoped neither of them would feel any inconvenience from their exertions, and that he should do himself the pleasure to call soon and inquire after their health. Madame de Frontignac made no reply; but curtsied with a stately grace, turned and went into her little, room, whither Mary, after a few minutes, followed her. She found her thrown upon the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her breast heaving as if she were sobbing; but when, at Mary's entrance, she raised her head, her eyes were bright and dry. "It is just as I told you, Mary,--that man holds me. I love him yet, in spite of myself. It is in vain to be angry. What is the use of striking your right hand with your left? When we _love_ one more than ourselves, we only hurt ourselves with our anger." "But," said Mary, "love is founded on respect and esteem; and when that is gone"---- "Why, then," said Madame, "we are very sorry,--but we love yet. Do we stop loving ourselves when we have lost our own self-respect? No! it is so disagreeable to see, we shut our eyes and ask to have the bandage put on,--you know _that_, poor little heart! You can think how it would have been with you, if you had found that _he_ was not what you thought." The word struck home to Mary's consciousness,--but she sat down and took her friend in her arms with an air self-controlled, serious, rational. "I see and feel it all, dear Virginie, but I must stand firm for you. You are in the waves, and I on the shore. If you are so weak at heart, you must not see this man any more." "But he will call." "I will see him for you." "What will you tell him, my heart?--tell him that I am ill, perhaps?" "No; I will tell him the truth,--that you do not wish to see him." "That is hard;--he will wonder." "I think not," said Mary, resolutely; "and furthermore, I shall say to him, that, while Madame de Frontignac is at the cottage, it will not be agreeable for us to receive calls from him." "Mary, _ma chère_, you astonish me!" "My dear friend," said Mary, "it is the only way. This man--this cruel, wicked, deceitful man--must not be allowed to trifle with you in this way. I will protect you." And she rose up with flashing eye and glowing cheek, looking as her father looked when he protested against the slave-trade.