"Karl Steinmetz is no friend of yours," he said.
Etta did not answer. She was thinking of the conversation she had had
with Steinmetz in Petersburg. She was wondering whether the friendship
he had offered--the solid thing as he called it--was not better than the
love of this man.
"I have information now," went on De Chauxville, "which would have made
you my wife, had I had it sooner."
"I think not," said the lady insolently. She had dealt with such men
before. Hers was the beauty that appealed to De Chauxville and such as
he. It is not the beautiful women who see the best side of human nature.
"Even now," went on the Frenchman, "now that I know you--I still love
you. You are the only woman I shall ever love."
"Indeed!" murmured the lady, quite unmoved.
"Yes; although in a way I despise you--now that I know you."
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Etta. "If you have any thing to say, please say
it. I have no time to probe your mysteries--to discover your parables.
You know me well enough, perhaps, to be aware that I am not to be
frightened by your cheap charlatanism."
"I know you well enough," retorted De Chauxville hoarsely, "to be aware
that it was you who sold the Charity League papers to Vassili in Paris.
I know you well enough, madame, to be aware of your present position in
regard to your husband.
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