As she had laid her hand upon his hot forehead and over his eyes, he had
unconsciously spoken her name. That had told her more of what really was
between them than she had ever known. In the presence of the catastrophe
that must endanger, if not destroy the work he had done, the career he
had made, he thought of her, spoke her name.
What could she do to prevent his ruin? She must do something, else she
had no right to think of him. As though her thoughts had summoned him,
she came suddenly upon Felix Marchand at a point where her path resolved
itself into two, one leading to Manitou, the other to her own home.
There was a malicious glint in the greenish eyes of the dissolute
demagogue as he saw her. His hat made a half-circle before it found his
head again.
"You pay early visits, mademoiselle," he said, his teeth showing
rat-like.
"And you late ones?" she asked meaningly.
"Not so late that I can't get up early to see what's going on," he
rejoined in a sour voice.
"Is it that those who beat you have to get up early?" she asked
ironically.
"No one has got up earlier than me lately," he sneered.
"All the days are not begun," she remarked calmly.
"You have picked up quite an education since you left the road and the
tan," he said with the look of one who delivers a smashing blow.
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