Valerie was not of a meek spirit, and she saw a way in which she might revenge Isolde, little comprehending the far-reaching consequences of her thoughtless words.
'I aspire to be maid of honour to the Grand Duchess of Maäsau!' she answered, with a glance towards the Countess.
The Duke glared around him into the circle of half-curious, half-terrified faces, for this was a piercing home-thrust, his eye dwelt for a moment on Sagan, towering tall and rugged and strong as one of his own native rocks, and he recognised that his cousin, although ten years his senior as age is counted, was infinitely younger in his unimpaired energies and rude health. Also, Duke Gustave of Maäsau was superstitious, and it struck him as an ill omen that the representative of Selpdorf should have failed him at the critical moment, and thus flung him headlong into the arms of Germany!
Out of all these crowding thoughts arose not only vivid fear, but a resolution, of which none at that time believed him to be capable. He grew white about the mouth, his protruding lip twitched ominously.
'It is not always lucky for even so young and beautiful a woman as you are to count on dead men's shoes,' he said, in a low, penetrating voice.
A happy inspiration came to Madame de Sagan. She took Valerie's hand in hers, and addressed the Duke with a quivering smile that somehow vouched for her earnestness at the moment.
'You mistake Valerie, sire; she and I both desire the same honour—to attend your Highness's Consort, if it would please you to take one.'
'It might please me, Madame; but I doubt it would please your husband little,' retorted the Duke.
'I hoped your Highness knew me better!' protested Sagan sulkily.
'I do, my good Simon, I know you much better!' said the Duke laughing. 'Now, pray lead me to my apartments. The journey to Sagan fatigues in this weather—and, after all, it would look better if I died at home—in the palace at Révonde.'