"Good-evening, mademoiselle," he repeated, smiling at my dismay. "You did not expect to see me?" "I did not know you were in Quebec," I gasped, trying hard to recover my self-control. "Nor did any one else, save your friend M. de Montcalm; I arrived an hour ago." "How did you know I was here?" I asked, to gain time. "I guessed whither you had been drawn when I did not find you at the house, and a crown to the right lackey brought me here. And now, with your permission, we will finish that conversation your friend the Jesuit interrupted more than six months ago. No, you dare not cry out; and see, I have the key. You are more alone with me here than in the woods at Beaulieu," and he smiled with an air of triumph that made me desperate. "It is useless to attempt to frighten me, monsieur," I said, boldly. "I am among friends." "Indeed? And you count this Chevalier de Maxwell among them?" "I do; for now I understand the letter he sent." "May I ask in what way?" "In the way of a warning not to trust myself to a man in whom he had no confidence." "Ah! He has explained this to you himself?" "No, monsieur; it was my own fault I did not see it at the time." "Will you answer me one question truthfully? Have you seen M. de Maxwell? You will not answer? Then your silence speaks for you. Now if this letter had been sent with the meaning you pretend to put upon it, do you not think M. de Maxwell would have sought you out in a little place like Quebec, where he has no other occupation on his hands than to win enough at pharaon to dress himself for such duties as these?" he said, contemptuously, as he waved his hand towards the ball-room; and with the sneering words my defence of a few moments before was in the dust. "You have seen him here," he went on, when he marked the effect of his words. "Does he look like a man who is eating his heart out; or like one who is free of a burthen and trying to enjoy the present? Marguerite, listen to me! For your sake I have braved disgrace and perhaps ruin; for your sake I would go through it again--" "How dare you speak to me thus, monsieur!" I interrupted. "You insult me beyond endurance when you dare to say I ever inspired any man to be a traitor and a coward." "By God!" he muttered, "have a care lest I strike you! There are some things I cannot stand, even from you." "Strike! I would rather that than anything else from you." He glared at me fiercely for a moment, then suddenly changing, he whispered, entreatingly: "Marguerite, do not tempt me thus. Do not bring out all that is worst in me. You know I love you." "I will not have your love; it is hateful to me." "Why should my love be hateful? It is not different from that of other men! It is as strong--so strong that I cannot master it. It is as tender, if you will but answer it. It is not to be despised, for I have never offered it to another; and as for myself, God made me as I am."