“It was a jest, then?” broke in Madame de Longueville, haughtily.
“Just as that is,” replied Kate, lifting her hand and pointing in the direction whence came a terrible crash of artillery, followed by the rattle of musketry.
“Let us go,—let us away!” was now heard in affrighted accents on every side; and the splendid assemblage, with less of ceremony than might be expected, began to depart. Lady Dorothea alone was ignorant of what had occurred, and witnessed this sudden leave-taking with amazement. “You are surely not afraid?” said she to one; “there is nothing serious in all this.”
“She has told us the reverse, my Lady,” was the reply. “We should be compromised to remain longer in her company.”
“Adieu, my Lady. I wish we left you in safer companionship.”
“Farewell, Madame, and pray be warned of your danger,” whispered another.
“Your Ladyship may be called upon to acquit debts contracted by another, if Mademoiselle continues a member of your family,” said Villemart, as he bowed his departure.
“Believe me, Madame, none of us include you in the terrible sentiments we have listened to.”
These, and a vast number of similar speeches attended the leave-taking of nearly each of her guests, till Lady Dorothea, confused, almost stunned by reiterated shocks, sat silently accepting these mysterious announcements, and almost imagining herself in all the bewilderment of a dream.
Twice she made an effort to ask some explanation, but failed; and it was only as the Duchesse de Mirecourt drew nigh to say farewell, that in a faint, weak voice she said,—“Can you tell me what all are hinting at, or am I only confusing myself with the terrible scenes without?”