"The Countess is already on her way here," was the servant's answer.
The first transports of joy are perhaps better left in a sacred privacy. Indeed the Count was not for much explanation, or for many words. What need was there? The Countess acquiesced in his view with remarkable alacrity; the fewer words there were, and especially, perhaps, the fewer explanations, the easier and more gracious was her part. She had thought the matter over, there in the solitude to which her Andrea's cruelty had condemned her: and, yes, she would take the oath—in fact any number of oaths—to hold no further communication whatever with Paul de Roustache.
"Ah, your very offer is a reproach to me," said the Count, softly. "I told you that now I ask no oath, that your promise was enough, that—"
"You told me?" exclaimed the Countess, with some appearance of surprise.
"Why, yes. At least I begged Dieppe to tell you in my name. Did n't he?"
For a moment the Countess paused, engaged in rapid calculations, then she said sweetly:
"Oh, yes, of course! But it's not the same as hearing it from your own lips, Andrea."
"Where did you see him?" asked the Count. "Did he pass the barricade? Ah, we 'll soon have that down, won't we?"
"Oh, yes, Andrea; do let 's have it down, because—"
"But where did you and Dieppe have your talk?"