“Simply for this reason. I cannot take an active part in any move against a person who is a friend of yours.” “And why not, monsieur?” “Ah, you ask me a question now that is very difficult to answer.” “How so?” “Because the reply may make you angry.” “Then you had better not answer the question, monsieur.” “On the contrary, it is better to say what is in my mind, since to leave it unsaid would be an act of cowardice, and it is better that we should both know a secret that is tormenting me like fire. I cannot act against a friend of yours, simply for this reason—I have learned to love you.” He had risen before finishing the sentence, and at the last word, bowing profoundly, he moved away to where Jean, de Joyeuse and Madame d’Harlancourt were talking together, and joined in their conversation. Camille followed him with her eyes. He had attracted her at the ball, his action against Madame Dubarry had turned her against him, his frank confession of the part he had taken had somewhat modified her resentment, his declaration that in future he would remain neutral had modified it still more; his declaration of love had stunned her. He was a married man. The thing amounted to an insult, yet she did not feel insulted, nor did she feel angry; her being was stirred to its depths for the first time in her life. Unconscious of the fact that a declaration of love from Camus had about as much meaning as a declaration of pity from a tiger, or perhaps half-conscious of it, she was held now by the mesmerism of the man, and sat watching him as he conversed with the others; till Madame de Duras, coming up to her, broke the spell. At supper, her eyes kept continually meeting those of Camus, and she was half conscious of the fact that a wordless conversation was going on between her almost unwilling mind and the mind of the Count. Men like Camus do most of their murderous work against women without speech. They have the art of making women think about them, and they know that they have the art. Camus all that evening kept aloof from the girl to whom he had made his declaration of love. He wore a brooding and meditative air at times. He knew that she was observing him closely, and he acted the part of the eternal lover to perfection. Yet, despite his acting, he was desperately in earnest. When the card-tables were being set out, it was found that Camille had vanished from the room. She did not appear again that night. CHAPTER V THE HOUSE OF COUNT CAMUS