“There has been a quick fulfilment of that text.”
“True,” said Benningsen with a side-glance at the maid, who stood by, wondering what it all meant, “and the less said about it before others, the better.”
There was in his manner something approaching to the nature of a threat, that caused Pauline’s eyes to blaze angrily.
“You have brought dishonour upon a noble enterprise,” she said. “Henceforth, we are no longer friends. Pay no more visits to the Embassy, or I’ll have you whipped forth.”
“L’Ambassade, c’est moi!” said Benningsen, with something between a laugh and a sneer; and striking a Louis Quatorze attitude as he spoke. “But if the Marquis chooses to receive me——”
“I’ll have you whipped,” she repeated, making the last word sound like the lashing of a thong, “like the savage that you are. As for mon père—have you told him the whole story? No! you dare not. You have lied to him, as you have lied to me. Mon père is a gentleman, and when he hears the truth, he, too, will forbid your presence here. Go, coward!” she added, with a stamp of her foot, and pointing to the door.
Benningsen’s great face reddened as he saw that two clerks of the Embassy, passing through the hall to their daily duties, had stopped to listen to this piquant dialogue between a brother-in-law of the Czar and their chief’s daughter.
“Coward?” said Benningsen, repeating the word. “But bah! one is a fool to bandy words with a woman. If only you were a man——!” he added, turning away.
“Stay a moment, General,” she said, sweetly, “I’ll bring you a man.”
He knew that she meant Wilfrid, whose sword he durst not meet; and without more ado he stalked off.