"What? What will he ask?"
"He will propose a husband to you."
She tore at the lace wrapping about her throat as though it were choking her; her eyes were fixed on mine. I answered her gaze with a steady regard, and her cheek grew red with a hot blush.
"His motive you may guess," said I. "There is convenience in a husband."
I had put it at last plainly enough, and when I had said it I averted my eyes from hers.
"I won't go," I heard her gasp. "I'll throw myself at the King's feet."
"He'll make a clever jest on you," said I bitterly.
"I'll implore M. de Perrencourt——"
"His answer will be—polite."
For a while there was silence. Then she spoke again in a low whisper; her voice now sounded hard and cold, and she stood rigid.