She made as if to depart; then she appeared to
check herself, and stood immovable and outwardly calm, awaiting my
approach.
But her eyes were averted, and her bosom rose and fell too swiftly
to lend colour to that mask of indifference she hurriedly put on.
Yet, as I drew nigh, she was the first to speak, and the triviality
of her words came as a shock to me, and for all my knowledge of
woman's way caused me to doubt for a moment whether perhaps her
calm were not real, after all.
"You are a laggard this morning, Monsieur de Lesperon." And, with
a half laugh, she turned aside to break a rose from its stem.
"True," I answered stupidly; "I slept over-late."
"A thousand pities, since thus you missed seeing Mademoiselle de
Marsac. Have they told you that she was here?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. Stanislas de Marsac left a letter for me."
"You will regret not having seen them, no doubt?" quoth she.
I evaded the interrogative note in her voice. "That is their fault.
They appear to have preferred to avoid me."
"Is it matter for wonder?" she flashed, with a sudden gleam of fury
which she as suddenly controlled. With the old indifference, she
added, "You do not seem perturbed, monsieur?"
"On the contrary, mademoiselle; I am very deeply perturbed."
"At not having seen your betrothed?" she asked, and now for the
first time her eyes were raised, and they met mine with a look that
was a stab.
"Mademoiselle, I had the honour of telling you yesterday that I had
plighted my troth to no living woman.
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