"You do not mean what you say! A woman like yourself cannot set bounds to a man's admiration, or check his feelings by ridicule. I have scoffed at sentiment all my life as a thing fit only for boys and women. But all that I have hitherto disdained has amply revenged my past indifference. And you--you have not discouraged me, madame?" Her heart beats high. A sudden warm colour comes into her face beneath its delicate rouge; but not from any gratification at the homage--not for any reason that makes him interpret these signs as flattering to himself. Only because she sees herself a step further on the road of her vengeance--only because triumph whispers to her that the end is not far off. She rises after those last words, laughing still. "I do not believe in love, monsieur, any more than yourself. No one has been able to convert me. To parody an old saying, with me it is only a case of '_La reine s'amuse_.'" "And is this boy only a plaything also?" he says, with an angry sneer. "Of course. Is he not a charming one?" she says with sudden gravity. "So earnest and credulous; quite refreshing. We have so long passed that stage of life, _nous autres_." "With women like yourself for teachers is that a matter of wonder, madame?" "Now you are sarcastic, and that is horrid. Why, Count, I do believe you are jealous of my pretty boy! I thought you were wiser than that." And laughing her soft, amused laughter, she passes on into the card-room, leaving him standing there with the mellow lamplight on his dark, passionate face, and shining in the lurid depths of his eyes. At that moment he hates her and himself, and hates tenfold more the man he has chosen to consider as his rival. It had been true, as he had said, that he had deemed himself above all such weaknesses, until the fascination of this woman had entered into his life and fired his soul with a passion, sudden, wild, fierce, and absorbing even as it was revengeful. To win her he would have done much. He was not a poor man, though far from being rich, as Lady Jean counted riches. Still he was of good birth, and boasted of pure Magyar descent, and had noble and ancient estates in Hungary, and thought himself no ill match for the daughter of a poor Irish Earl. But that Lady Jean should encourage his homage and then ridicule it, filled him with fierce anger. He leaves her room that night with a cold farewell, and for two days does not approach her at all. Lady Jean is amused. It is what she expected, and she does not resent it. She sees Keith daily now--in fact, takes care that she shall see him, for she is not desirous that he should escape her toils.