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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOT. lOl
"Try? Is it possible that her affections are otherwise
engaged? "
’*
Not . . . that I know of ! But ... I think I may
say that. . . . Well, you can try! "
And with a tone of deepest conviction
—
"You may be sure to get your money’s worth !
"
This sneering remark was an insult, and roused my
desire to defy him. If I made love to that other woman,
it might not only save me from my criminal passion, but
it would also give satisfaction to the Baroness, whose
legitimate feelings had been outraged.
It had grown dark. I rose to go home. The captain
accompanied me past the sentinels. We shook hands at
the barrier gate, which he slammed after me as if he
wanted to challenge me.
Spring had come. The snow had melted, the streets
were free from ice. Half-starved children were selling
little bunches of liverwort in the streets. The windows of
the flower-shops glowed with azaleas, rhododendron and
other early blossoms ;
golden oranges gleamed in the
greengrocers’ shops ; lobsters, radishes and cauliflower
appeared on the costers’ barrows. Under the North
Bridge the waves reflected the rays of the sun. On the
quays the steamers were being newly rigged and painted in
sea-green and scarlet. The men who had grown weak in
the winter darkness, recovered in the sunlight. Woe to
the weakling when love gives free play to the long-
restrained passions !
The pretty little she-devil had arrived, and was staying
with the Baroness.
I paid her a great deal of attention. She had apparently
been informed of my designs, and consec[uently she amused
herself with me. We had been playing a duet, and she
was leaning against my left arm with her right shoulder.
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