She threw it contemptuously away from her into the grate.
“A woman lied to me about it,” she said slowly. “I am ashamed of myself that I should have listened to her, even for a second. I chanced to look at it last night, and it suddenly occurred to me where I had seen it. It was on a man’s watch-chain, but not on yours.”
“Surely,” he said, “it belongs to Mr. Sabin?”
She nodded and held out both her hands.
“Will you forgive me?” she begged softly, “and—and—I think—I promised to send for you!”
They had been together for nearly an hour when the door opened abruptly, and the young man whom Wolfenden had seen with Helène in the barouche entered the room. He stared in amazement at her, and rudely at Wolfenden. Helène rose and turned to him with a smile.
“Henri,” she said, “let me present to you the English gentleman whom I am going to marry. Prince Henri of Ortrens—Lord Wolfenden.”
The young man barely returned Wolfenden’s salute. He turned with flashing eyes to Helène and muttered a few hasty words in French—
“A kingdom and my betrothed in one day! It is too much! We will see!”