Vandeloup, with a smile, 'but I refuse to
accept any terms till I have given you thoroughly to understand what
I mean; so you must hear this little tale of Adele Blondet.'
'For God's sake, no!' cried the other, hoarsely, rising to his feet;
'I tell you I am haunted by it; by day and by night, sleeping or
waking, I see her face ever before me like an accusing angel.'
'Curious,' murmured M. Vandeloup, 'especially as she was not by any
means an angel.'
'I thought it was done with,' said Meddlechip, twisting his fingers
together, while the large drops of perspiration stood on his
forehead, 'but here you come like a spectre from the past and revive
all the old horrors.'
'If you call Adele a horror,' retorted Vandeloup, coolly, 'I am
certainly going to revive her, so you had best sit down and hear me
to the end, for you certainly will not turn me from my purpose.'
Meddlechip sank back into his chair with a groan, while his
relentless enemy curled himself up on the sofa in a more comfortable
position and began to talk.
'We will begin the story,' said M. Vandeloup, in a conversational
tone, with an airy wave of his delicate white hand, 'in the good
old-fashioned style of our fairy tales. Once upon a time--let us say
three years ago--there lived in Paris a young man called Octave
Braulard, who was well born and comfortably off. He had a fancy to
be a doctor, and was studying for the medical profession when he
became entangled with a woman.
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