"Do you forget, sir, that I know you for what you are--a gamester, a libertine, a duellist, the murderer of my brother ?" "That your brother lives, Mademoiselle, is, methinks, sufficient proof that I have not murdered him." "You willed his death if you did not encompass it; so 't is all one.
Do you not understand that it is because my father receives you here, thanks to M.de Mancini, your friend--a friendship easily understood from the advantages you must derive from it--that I consent to endure your presence and the insult of your glance?
Is it not enough that I should do this, and have you not wit enough to discern it, without adding to my shame by your insolent call upon my courtesy ?" Her words cut me as no words that I ever heard, and, more than her words, her tone of loathing and disgust unspeakable.

For half that speech I should have killed a man--indeed, I had killed men for less than half.

And yet, for all the passion that raged in my soul, I preserved upon my countenance a smiling mask.

That smile exhausted her patience and increased her loathing, for with a contemptuous exclamation she turned away.
"Tarry but a moment, Mademoiselle," I cried, with a sudden note of command.

"Or, if you will go, go then; but take with you my assurance that before nightfall you will weep bitterly for it." My words arrested her.