“Yes, madame, I do, from the bottom of my heart, else I would not have married my wife.”
The taunt did not pierce Laurence’s thick vanity and self-righteousness.
“You are wedded to a Russian?” she asked du bout des lèvres.
“I am afraid you did not catch my name a while ago, madame. As a matter of fact, I have the honor of being closely related to you—by marriage. I am Salvières.”
“The Duke!” Laurence exclaimed, with sudden attention, and with the same animation she had displayed when the “Gamin” had mentioned Salvières to her at Plenhöel; for he was a very great personage indeed, even to Laurence’s colossal ignorance of the intimate lining of affairs, both social and diplomatic.
He smiled amusedly. “The Duke!” he said. “Why, yes, I suppose I can call myself one of the unfortunates so hampered, although why you flatteringly emphasized the article I can’t imagine. A greater distinction is mine, as being now your brother-in-law, very much at your service, belle petite madame!”
“But where is your wife?”
“Alas! at home, where an incredible variety of occupations detains her.”
“What do you call ‘at home’ when you are here?” she asked. “Madame de Salvières has pretty nearly as many estates as Basil.”
Salvières laughed. He had a charming laugh, disclosing beautifully regular teeth. “My dear wife’s castle of Palitzinovna—a prolongation of Tverna, so to speak. We are very fond of it.”