After that--
the lodging-house!"
He pushed her aside, but she still clung pertinaciously to his arm.
"Victor! Victor!" she wailed, "Will you not look at me--will you not
kiss me!"
Miraudin wheeled round, and stared at her amazed.
"Kiss you!" he echoed, "Pardieu! Would you care! Jeanne! Jeanne! You
are a little mad,--the moonlight is too much for you! To-morrow I
will kiss you, when the sun rises--or if I am not here--why,
somebody else will!"
"Who is the woman you are fighting for?" she suddenly demanded,
springing up from her crouching position with flushed cheeks and
flashing eyes. Miraudin looked at her with nonchalant admiration.
"I wish you would have looked like that sometimes on my stage," he
said, "You would have brought down the house! 'Woman!' No 'woman' at
all, but WOMEN! The glamour of them--the witchery of them--women!--
the madness of them! Women!--The ONE woman saves when the ONE woman
exists, but then,--we generally kill HER! Now, once more, Jeanne,--
out of the way! Time flies, and Monsieur le Marquis is in haste. He
has many fashionable engagements!"
He flashed upon her a look from the bright amorous hazel eyes, that
were potent to command and difficult to resist, and she cowered
back, trembling and sobbing hysterically as the Marquis advanced.
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