'We have not yet heard,' he said at last, 'what Monseigneur le duc d'Anjou hath to say on the matter.'
'Oh!' Monsieur hastened to say with mock sincerity, 'all that I have to say is that throughout my life I have from time to time and on many a momentous occasion, registered on oath that I would never be affianced to a woman whom I had not previously learned to love.'
'You will own, Messire,' broke in Marguerite gently, 'that this is a laudable sentiment.'
Nor did she think it desirable to let Messire de Montigny know that her unreliable brother had vowed but half an hour ago that if a wife were thrust upon him now he would, an he did not like her, repudiate her even at the foot of the altar. Shifty and irresponsible in most things, she knew him well enough to understand that in matters which affected himself and his desires, he would prove dangerous, obstinate and cruel.
'On my soul!' added Monsieur with well-assumed earnestness, 'I do assure you, Messire, that I knew nothing of my sister's project.'
'There was no time to put it before you, François,' rejoined Marguerite. 'It arose in my brain even while you parleyed together with Messire de Montigny and seemed unable to come to an understanding.'
'Then what says Monseigneur now?' reiterated the Flemish lord curtly.
'Well!' drawled Monsieur in his usual indecisive way, 'I say—I say that——'
'François!' admonished Marguerite sharply.
He felt himself driven into a corner, from which procrastination would no longer free him. In a manner the proposed adventure suited his temperament, and in any case it would help to put off the final and irrevocable decision. Therefore he was willing to fall in with it. Sentimental dalliance was an art which he knew to his finger-tips, and there was much in his sister's project which pleased his lazy, pulpy nature. To sigh beneath a woman's window, to woo a woman's love with honeyed words beneath a silken mask, to plan secret meetings and steal to lovers' trysts at dead of night, had always been an absorbing occupation for this degenerate prince. Now he felt de Montigny's stern gaze fixed upon him and his sister's admonitions rang in his ears. He knew that he had worn her love and patience almost to a breaking thread. He threw a final appealing look on Gilles de Crohin, but the latter's glance of amusement appeared as an encouragement. Well, Gilles would know! Gilles would appreciate! He, too, loved masks and casement-windows and fair women, tearful with love. Gilles also loved fighting, so he could do that, if any of it barred the way to Monsieur's comfort and peace.