Countess de Linieres loved the Chevalier as if he were her own son. Quickly she shot the youth a warning look to prevent if possible a verbal passage of arms. But it was already too late.
“You dare to disobey the King––” thundered Count de Linieres, in righteous wrath, backed (as the others well knew) by the triple authority of household, police and royal cachet.
“My sword is my King’s,” flashed the handsome youth resolutely, “but my will must remain my own!
“I will go to His Majesty,” he continued passionately. “I will thank him for his goodness, place my services at his disposal. My devotion, my life are his, but my affections 50 are my own, and I wish to remain––free!”
“Free!” exclaimed the Count scornfully. “Free to lead a life of dissipation which you may not always be able to hide from the world.”
These words, which implied so much, stung the noble-hearted de Vaudrey more than any words of anger or reproach could have done.
“There is nothing in my life to hide,” he said proudly but impatiently, “nothing for which I have reason to blush.”
“Are you sure of that, Chevalier?” asked the Count, in a tone that plainly said the speaker knew differently. Conscious of his own uprightness, this doubt cast upon his word was more than the Chevalier could bear, and he advanced toward his uncle with a menacing air.
“Monsieur!” he began, boldly, “I cannot––”
“Maurice! my husband!” exclaimed the Countess, as she stepped between the two men to prevent those words being spoken which would have led to an encounter. “Defer the conversation for the present. Permit me to speak to Maurice.”