“Why did you remain here while I was left alone to endure such humiliation? Ah! had I been a man! All our guests have fled, Monsieur—all!”
M. de Sairmeuse sprang up.
“Ah, well! what if they have? Let them go to the devil!”
Of the guests that had just left his house there was not one whom the duke really regretted—not one whom he regarded as an equal. In giving a marriage-feast for his son, he had bidden all the gentry of the neighborhood. They had come—very well! They had fled—bon voyage!
If the duke cared at all for their desertion, it was only because it presaged with terrible eloquence the disgrace that was to come.
Still he tried to deceive himself.
“They will return, Madame; you will see them return, humble and repentant! But where can Martial be?”
The lady’s eyes flashed, but she made no reply.
“Did he go away with the son of that rascal, Lacheneur?”
“I believe so.”