“I thought I should find you here still,” said he. “I rode over to seek you. Surely you are not at the duchess’?”
His tone was eloquent of remonstrance.
“I’ve been staying at the inn.”
“At the inn?” he repeated, looking at me curiously. “And is the duchess at home?”
“She’s at home now. How come you here?”
“Ah, my friend, and how comes your arm in a sling? Well, you shall have my story first. I expect it will prove shorter. I am staying at Pontorson with a friend who is quartered there.”
“But you went to Paris.”
Gustave leaned clown to me, and spoke in a low impressive tone:
“Gilbert,” said he, “I’ve had a blow. The day after I got to Paris I heard from Lady Cynthia. She’s going to be married to a countryman of yours.”
Gustave looked very doleful. I murmured condolence, though in truth I cared, just then, not a straw about the matter.