“Monseigneur, you try to frighten me!”
“You have to see him to-morrow.”
Her breast heaved and her soft eyes were rebellious.
“He was—beautiful,” she murmured. “I think he had no right. He did not think of me.”
“He kept the plague from you—from Aix.”
She took no notice.
“For a vagabond’s child,” she continued—“for the sake of a thing of nought!”
“No,” interrupted the Marquis sternly, “for the sake of his honour.”
Clémence dropped again into the great black chair by the fire.
“You will be here to welcome him to-morrow?” he added. “He speaks of you so often.”