On the way to the West Wing, milor talked lightly of many things: of Monsieur de Voltaire's latest comedy, and the quaint new fashion in headgear, of His Majesty the King of Prussia and of the pictures of Monsieur Claude Gelée. He joked about the Duchesse de Pontchartrain's attempts at juvenility and Monsieur Crébillon's pretensions to a place among the Immortals. Lydie answered in monosyllables; she could not bring herself to speak, although she quite appreciated milor's desire to appear natural and unconcerned before his own lacqueys.
A great resolution was taking root in her mind, and she only wanted the privacy and the familiarity of her own apartments to put it into execution. Thus they reached the West Wing.
Arrived in the antechamber whence her rooms branched off to the right and milor's to the left, Lord Eglinton stopped, disengaged her arm from his and was about to bid her an elaborate good-night, when she said abruptly:
"May I speak with you privately and in your own study, milor?"
"Certainly, Madame," he replied seemingly a little astonished at her request.
He dismissed all the flunkeys with the exception of Monsieur Achille, who led the way through the reception rooms toward milor's private suite. Lord and Lady Eglinton followed in silence now. The rooms seemed strangely silent and deserted, ghostlike too, for there was no artificial light, and the moon peered in through the tall windows, throwing patches of pale mauve and weird, translucent greens on the parquet floor and the brocade coverings of the chairs.
In milor's study, Monsieur Achille lighted the candles in two massive candelabra, which stood on the secrétaire, then, at a nod from his master, he walked backward out of the room.
The heavy portière fell back with a curious sound like a moan, and for the third time to-day husband and wife stood face to face alone. The gaucherie of his manner became at once apparent now: yet he seemed in no way bashful or ill as ease, only very stiff and awkward in his movements, as he drew a chair for her at a convenient angle, and when she had sat down, placed a cushion to her back and a footstool at her feet. He himself remained standing.
"I pray you sit, milor," she said with a quick sigh, that trembled as it escaped her lips, "and if I have not angered you beyond the bounds of your patience, I earnestly ask you to bear with me, for if I have been at fault I have also suffered much and . . ."
"Madame," he said quite gently if somewhat coldly, "might I entreat of you not to insist on this interview if it distresses you very much; as to a fault . . . on my honour, Madame, the very thought of self-accusation on your part seems to me wildly preposterous."