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With her clothes on she threw herself on her bed, and then, resting her head on her elbow, listened. Suddenly she thought the opposite room door gently opened. The beating of her heart almost pierced through her bosom. "If he loves, then let him love." Then she rose from her bed, and, holding her breath, slipped to the door and looked through the keyhole into Melanie's room.
Gilmer has the impertinence to pretend that our styles are quite similar, and that the same modes become us. She even declares that such has been Mademoiselle Melanie's verdict, and from the judgment of Mademoiselle Melanie nobody dares to appeal."
Mélanie's words, spoken in their long interview in the New York home, had contained an element of truth. There was a poignant sincerity in her saying, "You do not love me enough," which touched Aleck to the center of his being. He was not niggardly by nature; and had he given stintingly of his affection to this woman who was to him the best?
There was a private entrance into the street through the large garden at the back of the house; but this was the first time that Victorine had ever received an order to show any visitor out by that way, and she felt she was beginning to be admitted to Mademoiselle Melanie's confidence, an honor for which she had long sighed.
Two years had already passed since her father's death had thrown her into mourning; she had long since taken off black dresses; nor could she complain against "the bread of orphanhood." For Topándy supplied her with all that a woman holds dear, just as if she had been his own child. One afternoon Lorand found courage enough to take hold of Melanie's hand.
"A voluntary exile," Mélanie corrected. "Voluntary only in the sense that you prefer exile to absolute submission to the duke. There is no alternative, if you return." Mélanie was silent. Aleck lifted the hand which he held, touched it gently with his lips and laid it back beside its fellow on Mélanie's lap.
But it is the turning-point of my fate too: so just listen to the end, to all the little trifling incidents of the tale as Mistress Boris related them to Czipra, and Czipra to me. They all belong to the complete picture." "I am all ears," said Lorand, sitting down, and determining to show a very indifferent face when they related before him the tale of Melanie's marriage.
He was at any rate as handsome a man in Melanie's eyes as Lorand was in hers. "Shall you be his wife?" At this question Melanie held up her fine left hand before Czipra, raising the fourth finger higher than the rest. On it was a ring. Czipra drew the ring off her finger and looked closely at it. She saw letters inside it. If she only knew those! "Is this his name?" "His initials."
Czipra tore her hair in her despair and beat her brow upon the floor, writhing like a worm. At the noise she made Melanie darted up and hastened to the door to see what was the matter with Czipra. As soon as she noticed Melanie's approach, Czipra slunk away from her place and before Melanie could open the door and enter, dashed through the other door into the corridor.
A horrible thought suddenly came into my mind; my artistic life was ended, I was a worn-out man; in one word, to picture my situation in a trivial but correct manner, I had reached the end of my rope. "I could not express to you the discouragement that I felt at this conviction. Melanie's infidelity was the crowning touch.
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