The proposal was a startling one, and the Viscountess did not entertain it favorably.
“No,” said she, “I think that would not do at all.”
“Why not? However, let us leave it to Andre.”
Andre, thus addressed, stepped forward, and said,—
“I do not think that it would be delicate to let Mademoiselle de Mussidan know that her secret is known to any one else than ourselves.”
The Viscountess nodded assent.
“If,” continued Andre, “the Viscountess will be good enough to ask Modeste to meet me at the corner of the Avenue de Matignon; I shall be there.”
“A capital idea, sir,” said the lady, “and I will give your message to Modeste.” She broke off her speech suddenly, and uttered a pretty little shriek, as she noticed that the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece pointed to twenty to twelve. “Great heavens!” cried she, “and I am going to a ball at the Austrian Embassy, and now not even dressed.” And, with a coquettish gesture, she drew her shawl around her, and ran out of the room, exclaiming as she descended the stairs, “I will call here to-morrow, Gontran, on my way to the Bois,” and disappeared like lightning.
Andre and his host sat over the fire, and conversed for a long time. It seemed strange that two men who had met that morning for the first time should now be on such intimate terms of friendship; but such was the case, for a mutual feeling of admiration and respect had sprung up in their hearts.
M. de Breulh wished to send Andre home in his carriage, but this the young man declined, and merely borrowed an overcoat to protect him from the inclemency of the weather.