“It is a breach of it,” he said. “I must ask you, monsignore, to observe our compact to the letter.”
The old libertine grinned.
“A pledge only, to be redeemed in a year,” he said. “But it will keep, sweet as roses in a cabinet. In the interval, I hope the Marchesa will honour my poor abode, during the absence of its master.”
“No, pardon me,” said de France. “She will continue in her father’s house.”
“I shall do neither,” said the lily.
“How!” cried the Chevalier.
“I am my own mistress,” she said. “From this moment please do not forget that—” and she swept from the room.
He stared after her, dumbfoundered; but di Rocco burst into a great laugh.
“By God, I like her spirit!” he said. “She is a prize worth the winning.”