“I was looking for you, Diana,” she said, in her straitened tones, “and heard your voice here. Will you come with me, please?” And so she went out, deigning not one look at that insult of her own face, nor one word to the hangdog perpetrator of it. She went out, as cold as ice, and I saw Gogo, standing by the door, droop his head as she passed. Tingling with the joy of battle, I followed her. I knew that my long martyrdom was nearing its end. Outside in the hall she turned to me, quite stiff--I wondered how her limp corsets could support so much dignity--and bade me retire to my room till she should send for me. “And if it is to find you on your knees,” she said, “why, by so much will the duty I have to perform be made the easier.” Well, to do her justice, I believe that her heart was as near broken as one can be. “Thank you, ma’am,” I answered. “Do you want to flog me? ’Twould scarce improve your case, I think, with Mr. de Crespigny.” I ran up lightly, humming to myself. I heard her give a little gasp, and then go on her way to the parlour. Nobody came near me while I waited, until, in a little while, a servant knocked, to summon me. I went down at once, as jaunty as you please. Father Pope was with her, I saw, as I entered the room. “I wonder how much of the truth she has told him?” I thought. She was seated, perfectly colourless, while her companion stood, lowering and uneasy, by a table hard by. She bent a little forward, drawing her breath, I fancied, with difficulty, and addressed me at once. “You have asked pardon of God, I hope?” I tossed my head. “For what, madam? What have I done?” She appealed to the priest, with a little momentary helpless gesture; then bit her thin lips, as if stung by his silent perversity to resolution. “For the deceit you have long practised on us,” she said. “O, madam,” I answered, “do you refer to the gentleman’s attentions to me? I could hardly be so immodest as to confess of them to you, when I did not even know to what end they were advanced.” She held up her hand dully. “I allude to your privately sitting to him for--for that--for his model,” she said. “Why, I had my respected example, madam,” said I. “I didn’t know but what we were expected to accommodate the gentleman, seeing you yourself gave us the lead.” She rose quickly, striking her hand on the table. “To make of yourself, pledged to Heaven, a shame and a wanton in his eyes! O, ’twas infamous!--Not that,” she checked herself hurriedly, “I blame him--not altogether. Art is a strange creditor, that makes demands, scarce comprehensible to us, upon those who practise it. But, _you_”-- “Are you blaming _me_, madam,” I cried, “because he has not paid _you_ to your liking?” She turned away, as if quite sick. Father Pope took up the tale. “Silence!” he roared, “you little dirty liar and trollop!” “O, no doubt!” I piped him back, “because I rejected _your_ attentions.”