There were unspoken words trembling on his lips, which he fain would have uttered.

"By Heavens! She is a witch!" he murmured, in a repressed excitement, as he walked quietly down the hallway to keep his tryst with Casimir Wieniawski.

For Berthe Louison had at once divined the cause of his unrest.
"You think that I should tell you more?
Why should I tell you anything?
We are strangers yet, not even friends.

You may divine that I trust no man.

I have had my own sad lessons of life-lessons learned in bitterness and tears.