In obedience to the request of madame, the two men once more shook hands in the same cold formal manner as before.
Gerome departed along a road leading to the mountains, and every step which increased the distance from the house seemed to lift a portion of a heavy burden that weighed upon the English nobleman’s heart.
He seemed to breathe more freely when he felt assured that Gerome was far removed from the house in which he and his rival—for he felt assured he was so—had first met.
As soon as the young mountaineer was out of sight, Madame Trieste motioned Theresa to return to the house, and then taking Lord Ethalwood’s arm led him back to the arbour in which a great part of the day had been spent.
My dear friend,” said madame, as soon as they were seated, “here we can converse freely, and I have something to tell you.”
“Oh, indeed, madame! I am all attention.”
“I look upon you as one of our nearest and dearest friends. I am right in that supposition?”
“Of course you are—perfectly right.”
“And, as a proof, I am going to show you how much confidence I have in you. I have introduced you to Monsieur Gerome Chanet—you have had ample opportunities afforded you to converse together—now tell me, without reserve, what you think of him?”
“My dear lady, what reason have you for putting such a question?”