“But I don't like it a little bit,” growled the other.
“If you only knew, Mr. Anguish, you would not be so harsh and unjust,” remonstrated the lady, warmly. Turning to Lorry she said: “She asked me to hand you this and to bid you retain it as a token of her undying esteem.”
She handed him a small, exquisite miniature of the Princess, framed in gold inlaid with rubies. He took it dumbly in his fingers, but dared not look at the portrait it contained. With what might have seemed disrespect he dropped the treasure into his coat pocket.
“Tell her I shall always retain it as a token' of her—esteem,” he said. “And now may I ask whether she handed my note to her uncle, the Count?”
The Countess blushed in a most unaccountable manner.
“Not while I was with her,” she said, recovering the presence of mind she apparently had lost.
“She destroyed it, I presume,” said he, laughing harshly.
“I saw her place it in her bosom, sir, and with the right hand,” cried the Countess, as if betraying a state secret.
“In her—you are telling me the truth?” cried he, his face lighting up.
“Now, see here, Lorry, don't begin to question the Countess's word. I won't stand for that,” interposed Anguish, good-humoredly.