“What’s that?” exclaimed the Comte de Croisnel. “You talk nonsense, Roland. M. le marquis is hardly past forty. He is in his prime.”
“Without question, mon pere. For me, I was merely offering proof that he can preserve his prime unlimitedly.”
“He is not a subject for mockery, Roland.”
“Quite the contrary; for reverence!”
“Another than you, my boy, and he would march you out.”
“I am to imagine, then, that his hand continues firm?”
“Imagine to the extent of your capacity; but remember that respect is always owing to your own family, and deliberate before you draw on yourself such a chastisement as mercy from an accepted member of it.”
Roland bowed and drummed on his knee.
The conversation had been originated by Renée for the enlightenment of Nevil and as a future protection to herself. Now that it had disclosed its burden she could look at him no more, and when her father addressed her significantly: “Marquise, you did me the honour to consent to accompany me to the Church of the Frari this afternoon?” she felt her self-accusation of coquettry biting under her bosom like a thing alive.
Roland explained the situation to Nevil.