Dieu! How I hate you!" She had lain in my arms until then, with upturned face and piteous, frightened eyes--like a bird that feels itself within the toils of a snake, yet whose horror is blent with a certain fascination.

Now, as she spoke, her will seemed to reassert itself, and she struggled to break from me.

But as her fierceness of hatred grew, so did my fierceness of resolve gain strength, and I held her tightly.
"Why do you hate me ?" I asked steadily.

"Ask yourself, Roxalanne, and tell me what answer your heart makes.

Does it not answer that indeed you do not hate me--that you love me ?" "Oh, God, to be so insulted!" she cried out.