"St. Laurent," he said sharply, "we have been remiss. Monsieur is ill, a chair for him. Laure, a glass of wine."
Indeed, the constraint that Marteau had put upon himself had drawn heavily upon his scanty reserve of nervous force. St. Laurent did not like the task, but there was that in the Marquis's voice which warned him not to hesitate. He offered a chair, into which the young man sank. From a decanter on the table the girl, her hand trembling, poured out a glass of wine. Swiftly she approached him, she bent over him, moved by a sudden impulse, she sank on her knees by his side and tendered him the glass.
"On your knees, Laure!" protested the young Englishman. "It is not meet that——"
"In gratitude to a man who has served me well and who has set us all a noble example of renunciation by his surrender of land and title here in this very room."
"Rise, mademoiselle," said Marteau, taking the glass from her still trembling hand. "The honor is too great for me. I cannot remain seated unless——"
"Very pretty," said the Marquis coolly as young Captain Yeovil helped his reluctant young betrothed to her feet. "Your health, monsieur," he continued, taking up his own glass. "By all the saints, sir," he added as he drained his glass, "you have acted quite like a gentleman."
"'Quite,' my uncle?" quoted the young woman with deep emphasis on the word.
"Well, what more could I say to a Marteau?"
"What more indeed," said the young officer, smiling in proud disdain.
"Damme if I wouldn't have left the 'quite' out," muttered the elder Yeovil.