The count was lounging on a sofa as though he, too, had not slept during the night.
“Oh, it is our bridegroom,” he said, laying aside the book he had opened but was not reading.
“No, my lord,” replied Gilbert, “I have been sent about my business.”
The count turned round entirely.
“Who did this?”
“The lady.”
“That was certain; you ought to have dealt with the father.”
“Fate forbad it.”
“Fate? so we are fatalists?”
“I have no right to believe in faith.”