“Well, my child,” began he, “you do not seem very glad to see me.”
“Your Grace.”
“Yes, when you come out to meet the son, it is annoying to meet the father; but do not blame poor Norbert, for I assure you he is not in fault.”
Though Mademoiselle de Laurebourg had been startled at first, she was possessed of too strong a will to give in, and soon recovered her self-possession.
She never thought to screen herself by a denial of her reasons for being on the spot, for such a course she would have looked on as an act of treacherous cowardice.
“You are quite right,” answered she. “I came here to meet your son, and therefore you will pardon me if I take my leave of you.”
With a deep courtesy she was about to move away, when the Duke laid a restraining grip upon her arm.
“Permit me, my child,” said he, endeavoring to put on a kind and paternal tone,—“let me say a few words to you. Do you know why Norbert did not come to meet you?”
“He has doubtless some very good reason.”
“My son is locked up in a room, and my servants have my orders to prevent his making his escape by force, if necessary.”