“With whom could she go?”
“With her father and the Duchess, whom I am about to invite. I intend also to offer a seat to the Marquis.”
She gazed deep into his eyes, and a wild desire to kiss him rose to her lips. Hardly believing her ears, she repeated: “To the Marquis?”
“Why, yes.”
She consented at once to this arrangement.
He continued, in an indifferent tone: “Have you fixed the date of their marriage?”
“Oh, yes, almost. We have reasons for hastening it very much, especially as it was decided upon before my mother's death. You remember that?”
“Yes, perfectly. And when will it take place?”
“About the beginning of January. I ask your pardon for not having told you of it sooner.”
Annette entered. He felt his heart leap within him as if on springs, and all the tenderness that drew him toward her suddenly became bitter, arousing in his heart that strange, passionate animosity into which love changes when lashed by jealousy.