“Why, Madame?”
She found him at once more difficult than she had expected and it roused her.
“Oh, perhaps it is not generous, but politic,” she said, with a change of tone. Then she laughed and looked at him straightly. “Personally I do not like M. de Witt,” she declared, with a charming air of frankness.
William raised his expressive eyes slowly.
“He is my best friend, Madame.”
The Duchess, gazing at him intently, read in his eyes the contradiction of his words.
“I see what you mean me to believe, Prince,” she murmured.
The second measure of the sarabande had begun; Madame Lavalette beat time to it with her fan on her delicate hand.
“It is a pretty melody—do you like music, Monseigneur?”
“I think it can be made useful, Madame.”