“I am glad that you are in time for supper,” exclaimed Vivienne.
He bent low and said to her in an undertone: “I shall not enjoy it unless in your company.”
“But I am engaged,” and Vivienne looked towards the Count, who stood with face averted.
“You told me you were not.”
A hot flush mantled Vivienne’s cheek—she was not an adept in English humour or wit.
“You hesitate, but when we were in the forest that night you said that you would not forget me.”
“Neither will I,” she cried, with sudden determination. Before the Count could recover from his astonishment sufficiently to interpose, she had taken Victor’s arm and they proceeded to the supper room, closely followed by the company, that regarded further delay as unnecessary.
The Count was filled with rage at the insult which he had received, and was deeply mortified because his discomfiture had been witnessed by so many. He looked for some avenue of escape from further observation. Espying a door partly open, he quickly entered the room and found himself in the ante-chamber of the great drawing-room—from which the singers and dancers had emerged. Under the circumstances, he could not go to the supper room, nor would his pride allow him to leave the house until he had received an apology and reparation for the insult.
He finally decided to call a servant and have him summon Pascal and Julien. They soon appeared. The Count was resourceful and able to curb his passion when it was for his interest to do so. He began speaking in a severely dignified manner:
“Monsieur Pascal Batistelli, your sister has grossly insulted me in your presence and that of your guests. I demand an apology or reparation. I think I deserve both.”