"I intended to ask it of you, if you will wait an instant for me to arrange these papers."
Allard saluted them quietly, and withdrew. Like all the rest of the city, he fancied them most happy in each other. The Regent's aversion to the marriage had been forgotten in his bearing since the first day of his fiancée's arrival.
Iría sank down in an arm-chair and loosened the furs under her round white chin, laying the huge muff in her lap. Quite innocently and without shyness she followed Stanief's movements as he tossed into a drawer the writing upon which he had been engaged and dropped on top the thin, keen knife left from the recent conflict.
"Monseigneur," she said at last.
Stanief winced ever so slightly; there were times when the formal title fell like a drop of acid on his nerves.
"Madame la Duchesse?" he retorted.
Iría laughed out in her surprise, all unconscious of his meaning.
"Monseigneur, are you going to send Marya away from me?"
"I! What have I to do with your ladies? Keep or dismiss them as you choose, Iría."
"Marya cried this morning, telling me that last night the Baron Dalmorov warned her of your intention. He said that the Emperor would object to the sister of Count Ormanof remaining at court, so you would dismiss her. But I told Marya that you knew how much I cared for her, and would explain that to the Emperor."