They had no appetite for further discourse with this young madman just then.
The Duke turned on his heel and walked out. Presson followed.
"Gentlemen," said the young man to those who remained, "I have no quarrel with you. I do not want any. Do you understand?" He wiped his hands with his handkerchief, smoothed his hair, and walked past them.
As calmly as he could he hurried through the lobbies and the rotunda of the State House. The crowds were thinning. The band had gone. The women had scattered to prepare for the ball of the evening. Among the few that were left he could not find her.
He went back to his committee-room and pondered until dusk fell.
One matter presented itself to his mood as a duty. He called a carriage and was driven to the Presson home.
Madeleine came down in answer to his card. But as she entered the reception-room her father followed at her heels, beginning threats as he came in.
"Father," she said, quietly, "I have just listened to you. You need not fear that I do not understand myself and my duty. I ask you to retire."
He stood there a moment, still muttering his wrathful protest, but in the end her dignity mastered him. He went away.
What she did next amazed the young man who stood there waiting. She came to him and patted his cheek.