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Heart Of Gold
by
“Gaston, why will you not confess to your new friend? Have I not pardoned other amorous follies?” Her cheeks were warmer now, and softer than those of any other woman in the world.
“Eh, ma mie,” cried the Duke, warningly, “do not be unduly elated by little Louis’ avowal! You are a very charming person, but–‘de gustibus–‘”
“Gaston–!” she murmured.
“Ah, what is one to do with such a woman!” De Puysange put her from him, and he paced the room with quick, unequal strides.
“Yes, I love you with every nerve and fibre of my body–with every not unworthy thought and aspiration of my misguided soul! There you have the ridiculous truth of it, the truth which makes me the laughing-stock of well bred persons for all time. I adore you. I love you, I cherish you sufficiently to resign you to the man your heart has chosen. I–But pardon me,”–and he swept a white hand over his brow, with a little, choking laugh,–“since I find this new emotion somewhat boisterous. It stifles one unused to it.”
She faced him, inscrutably; but her eyes were deep wells of gladness. “Monsieur,” she said, “yours is a noble affection. I will not palter with it, I accept your offer–“
“Madame, you act with your usual wisdom,” said the Duke.
“–Upon condition,” she continued,–“that you resume your position as eavesdropper.”
The Duke obeyed her pointing finger. When he had reached the portières, the proud, black-visaged man looked back into the salon, wearily. She had seated herself in the fauteuil, where the Marquis de Soyecourt had bent over her and she had kissed the little gold locket. Her back was turned toward, her husband; but their eyes met in the great mirror, supported by frail love-gods, who contended for its possession.
“Comedy for comedy,” she murmured. He wondered what purblind fool had called her eyes sea-cold?
“I do not understand,” he said. “You saw me all the while–Yes, but the locket–?” cried de Puysange.
“Open it!” she answered, and her speech, too, was breathless.
Under his heel the Duc de Puysange ground the trinket. The long, thin chain clashed and caught about his foot; the face of his youth smiled from the fragment in his not quite steady hands. “O heart’ of gold! O heart of gold!” he said, with, a strange meditative smile, now that his eyes lifted toward the glad and glorious eyes of his wife; “I am not worthy! Indeed, my dear, I am not worthy!”