“A few words?”
“Yes. I do not like to use the word ‘conditions,’ but I think that you will understand what I mean. My daily toil for bread gave me neither the means nor the leisure which I required to cultivate my art, for that is a profession that I could never give up.”
“You will be certainly your own master.”
Andre paused, as if to reflect.
“This is not all I had to say,” he continued at last. “I love and am loved by a pure and beautiful girl; our marriage is arranged, and I think—”
“I think,” broke in the Duke, “that you could not love any one who was not a fit bride for a member of our family.”
“But I did not belong to this family yesterday. Be at ease, however, for she is worthy of a Champdoce. I am engaged to Sabine de Mussidan.”
A deadly paleness overspread the Duke’s face as he heard this name.
“Never,” said he. “Never; I would rather see you dead at my feet.”
“And I would gladly suffer ten thousand deaths than give her up.”