“Having but had my daughter restored to me,” Enrico said, “I now lose her again. But it is an easier loss, Henry. To-morrow shall be the wedding. It cannot take place too quickly. It is sure, right now, that that scoundrel Torres is whispering all over San Antonio Leoncia’s latest unprotected escapade with you.”
Ere Henry could express his gratification, Leoncia and the Queen entered. He held up his glass and toasted:
“To the bride!”
Leoncia, not understanding, raised a glass from the table and glanced to the Queen.
“No, no,” Henry said, taking her glass with the intention of passing it to the Queen.
“No, no,” said Enrico. “Neither shall drink the toast which is incomplete. Let me make it:
“To the brides!”
“You and Henry are to be married to-morrow,” Alesandro explained to Leoncia.
Unexpected and bitter though the news was, Leoncia controlled herself, and dared with assumed jollity to look Francis in the eyes while she cried:
“Another toast! To the bridegrooms!”