A period reached its
close, and applause delayed the beginning of the next. Quisante glanced
round and saw his wife; their eyes met; a slow smile came on his lips, a
smile of great delight. Once more her heart beat and her eyes gleamed for
him, once more she would be no man's if she could not be his. His air was
gay and his face joyful as, the next minute, he threw himself into a
flood of eloquence where indignation mingled with ridicule; he made men
doubt whether they must laugh or fight. Now he had all that he desired,
men hung on his words, and she sat by, and saw, and felt, and shared.
At the next pause, when the cheering again imposed a momentary silence,
the Dean turned to Marchmont, raising his hands and dropping them again.
"Yes, he can do it," said Marchmont in a curious tone; envy and scorn and
admiration all seemed to find expression.
"Look at her!" whispered the Dean, but this time Marchmont made no
answer. He had been looking at her, and knew now why she had tied her
life to Alexander Quisante's.
"If I could do it like that I couldn't stop doing it," said the Dean.
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