"If I had loved you all these years," murmured the Duc de Puysange. His
dull gaze wandered toward the admirable "Herodias" of Giorgione which hung
there in the corridor: the strained face of the woman, the accented muscles
of her arms, the purple, bellying cloak which spread behind her, the livid
countenance of the dead man staring up from the salver,--all these he
noted, idly. It seemed strange that he should be appraising a painting at
this particular moment.
"Well, now I will make recompense," said the Duke.