“You,” said the Grafin, touching Desiree's arm with her fan, “you, who are now his wife, must be dying to know what has called him away. Do not consider the 'convenances,' my child.”
Desiree, thus admonished, followed Charles. She had not been aware of this consuming curiosity until it was suggested to her.
She found Charles standing at the open door. He thrust a letter into his pocket as she approached him, and turned towards her the face that she had seen for a moment when he drew her back at the corner of the Pfaffengasse to allow the Emperor's carriage to pass on its way. It was the white, half-stupefied face of one who has for an instant seen a vision of things not earthly.
“I have been sent for by the... I am wanted at head-quarters,” he said vaguely. “I shall not be long...”
He took his shako, looked at her with an odd attempt to simulate cheerfulness, kissed her fingers and hurried out into the street.
CHAPTER III. FATE.
We pass; the path that each man trod
Is dim; or will be dim, with weeds.
When Desiree turned towards the stairs, she met the guests descending. They were taking their leave as they came down, hurriedly, like persons conscious of having outstayed their welcome.
Mathilde listened coldly to the conventional excuses. So few people recognize the simple fact that they need never apologize for going away. Sebastian stood at the head of the stairs bowing in his most Germanic manner. The urbane host, with a charm entirely French, who had dispensed a simple hospitality so easily and gracefully a few minutes earlier, seemed to have disappeared behind a pale and formal mask.