“Certainly,” murmured Mrs. Hawley-Crowles in a scarcely audible voice.
“By the way,” Lafelle said, suddenly turning the conversation, “how, may I ask, is our friend, Madam Beaubien?”
Mrs. Hawley-Crowles again trembled slightly. “I––I have not seen her much of late, Monsignor,” she said feebly.
“A strong and very liberal-minded woman,” returned Lafelle with emphasis. “I trust, as your spiritual adviser, Madam, I may express the hope that you are in no way influenced by her.”
“Sir!” cried Carmen, who had bounded to her feet, her eyes ablaze, “Madam Beaubien is a noble woman!”
“My dear child!” Lafelle grasped her hand and drew her back into her chair. “You misunderstand me, quite. Madam Beaubien is a very dear friend of ours, and we greatly admire her strength of character. She certainly does not require your defense! Dear! dear! you quite startled me.”
A few moments later he rose and offered his arms to his companions to lead them back to the hall. Delivering Carmen into the charge of the eagerly waiting Duke of Altern, Lafelle remarked, as he took leave of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, “I trust you will permit me to talk with your beautiful ward to-morrow afternoon––alone.” And when the lady interpreted the significance 148 of his look, her heart beat rapidly, as she bowed her acknowledgment of abject submission.
“Bah Jove!” ejaculated the young Duke, clutching Carmen. “Ye know, I was deucedly afraid you had gone home, or that Uncle Wilton had you. Ye know, I think I’m jealous of him!”
Carmen laughed merrily at the fellow. His grotesque costume made him appear still more ridiculous.
“It’s nothing to laugh at, Miss Carmen! It’s a bally bore to have a regular mountain like him always getting in the way; and to-night I just made up my mind I wouldn’t stand it any longer, bah Jove! I say, come on!”