Mayenne little imagined how truly she spoke; but he could not look in her eyes and doubt her honesty.
"You are a good child, Lorance," he said. "I could wish your lover as docile."
"He will not come here again," she cried. "He knows I am not for him. He gives it up, monsieur—he takes himself out of Paris. I promise you it is over. He gives me up."
"I have not his promise for that," Mayenne said dryly; "but the next time he comes after you, he may settle with your husband."
She uttered a little gasp, but scarce of surprise—almost of relief that the blow, so long expected, had at last been dealt.
"You will marry me, monsieur?" she murmured. "To M. de Brie?"
"You are shrewd, mademoiselle. You know that it will be a good three months before François de Brie can stand up to be wed. You say to yourself that much may happen in three months. So it may. Therefore will your bridegroom be at hand to-morrow morning."
She made no rejoinder, but her eyes, wide like a hunted animal's, moved fearsomely, loathingly, to Lucas. Mayenne uttered an abrupt laugh.
"No; Paul is not the happy man. Besides bungling the St. Quentin affair, he has seen fit to make free with my name in an enterprise of his own. Therefore, Paul, you will dance at Lorance's wedding a bachelor. Mademoiselle, you marry in the morning Señor el Conde del Rondelar y Saragossa of his Majesty King Philip's court. After dinner you will depart with your husband for Spain."
Lucas sprang forward, hand on sword, face ablaze with furious protest. Mayenne, heeding him no more than if he had not been there, rose and went to Mlle de Montluc.