“But how,” said Emanuel, wishing to change the subject of conversation, “how did you manage to get rid of the thousand engagements you must have had on your hands.”
“Why,” said the baron, with that perfectly free and easy air, which belonged only to that distinguished class, and stretching himself upon a couch, for they had at length reached the apartment destined for him, “why, by frankly stating the fact to them. I announced at the queen’s card table, I was going to be married.”
“Oh! good heaven! Why, this was perfect heroism! Above all, if you acknowledged you were about to seek a wife in the depths of Lower Brittany.”
“I did acknowledge it.”
“And then,” said Emanuel, smiling, “compassion stifled every angry feeling.”
“Gad! you will readily comprehend, my dear count,” said Lectoure, putting one knee over the other and, balancing his leg with a motion as regular as that of a pendulum, “our women of the court believe that the sun rises at Paris, and sets at Versailles—all the rest of France, is, in their idea, a Lapland, Greenland, Nova Zembla! So that they expect, as you have hinted, my dear count, to see me bring back with me from my voyage to the pole some large hands, and formidable feet! Fortunately, they are mistaken,” he added, with an accent half timorous, half interrogatory; “is it not so, Emanuel? for you told me that your sister”——
“You will see her,” replied Emanuel.
“It will be a dreadful disappointment to that poor Madame de Chaulne—it cannot be helped—and she must console herself. What is it?”
This question was induced by the entrance of Emanuel’s valet-de-chambre; who had half opened the door, and remained upon the threshold, waiting, as was then the custom of all servants in great houses, till his master should address him.
“What is it? repeated Emanuel.