“I believe so,” he said with a strange unaccountable sigh; “I do firmly believe,” he added slowly, “that Rixende loves me.”
“Well then?”
To this he made no reply, and anon passed his hand across his forehead.
“You are right, Micheline, I have no right to talk as I do—to feel as I feel to-night—dispirited and discouraged. All the world smiles to me,” he added with a sudden outburst of liveliness, which may perhaps not have rung quite true in the anxious sister’s ears. “I love Rixende, Rixende loves me; I am going to inherit tante Sybille’s millions, and dejection is a crime. So now let us go to mother and break the news of my departure to her. I shall have to leave early in the morning, little sister. We’ll have to say good-bye to-night.”
“And not say good-bye to Nicolette after all,” Micheline murmured under her breath.
But this Bertrand did not hear.
CHAPTER V
THE SPIRIT OF THE PAST
Mother wept, and grandmama was full of wise saws and grandiose speeches. So many gallant officers of the King’s Army having gone to Spain, those of His Majesty’s bodyguard would be all the more conspicuous at Court, all the more sought after in society.
“And remember, Bertrand,” was one of the last things she said to him that night, “when you next come home, Rixende de Peyron-Bompar must pay us a visit too, with that atrocious father of hers.”
“But, grandmama——” Bertrand hazarded.