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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 69
judged a little too hastily, perhaps, I suddenly felt very
unhappy, inconsolably unhappy, and I kept up the lie
dressed in the outer semblance of truth.
The Baroness, deceived by my clever acting, misled by
my assumed indifference, believed me to be in earnest, and
with motherly tenderness tried to comfort me.
’*
Have done with her !
" she urged ;
" forget all about
her. There are plenty of girls, far better than she is.
Don’t fret, she’s not worth crying for, since she couldn’t
even wait for you. Besides, I may tell you now—I’ve
heard things about her. . .
."
And with a pleasure which she was quite unable to
conceal, she proceeded to disgust me still further with my
supposed idol.
’•Just think," she exclaimed, "she practically pro-
posed to an officer of good family, and she made herself
out to be ever so much younger than she is . . . she’s
nothing but a common flirt, take my word for it."
A disapproving gesture from the Baron made her realise
her mistake ; she pressed my hand and apologised, looking
at me with eyes so wistful and tender that I felt as if I
should die of grief. The Baron, slightly intoxicated,
made sentimental speeches, took me into his confidence,
overwhelmed me with brotherl}’ love, attacked me with
endless toasts, which seemed to lose themselves in infinity.
His swollen face beamed benevolently. He looked at me
with his caressing, melancholy eyes ; their glance dissipated
every shadow of doubt of the sincerity of his friendship
which I might have entertained. Surely he was nothing
but a big, good-natured child, of unquestionable integrity ;
and I made a vow to behave honourably towards him,
even if it should kill me.
We rose from the table to say good-bye, perhaps for
ever. The Baroness burst out sobbing, and hid her face
on her husband’s shoulder.
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