“With that young girl?”
“A bold hussy, I tell you! A Messalina! Ah, I pity you sincerely in my turn! And should a devoted consoler, a discreet avenger, be able to make you forget this outrage to your charms, behold me at your feet, devoting to you my prayers, awaiting only a word from you to become the most fortunate among the elect—”
A loud knock at the outer door spared Mademoiselle Gontier the trouble of repelling her ridiculous adorer, who promptly scrambled to his feet at the sound.
“A visitor!” he murmured, turning pale. “Decidedly, I have no luck—”
“Monsieur le Marquis de Prerolles is in the drawing-room,” a domestic announced.
“Beg him to wait,” said Eugenie, reassured by this visit, which was earlier than the usual hour. “You see that you are badly informed, Monsieur Desvanneaux,” she added.
“For heaven’s sake, spare me this embarrassing meeting!” said the informer, whose complexion had become livid.
“I understand. You fear a challenge?”
“Oh, no, not that! My religious principles would forbid me to fight a duel. But the General would not fail to rally me before my wife regarding my presence here, and Madame Desvanneaux would be pitiless.”
“Own, however, that you richly deserve a lesson, Lovelace that you are! But I will take pity on you,” said Eugenie, opening a door at the end of the room. “The servants’ stairway is at the end of that corridor. You know the way!” she added, laughing.