“Fortunately, one fine day, the letters began again. Three months ago a telegram informed us that he was coming back; and at last the Duke returned,” said Germaine, with a theatrical air.
“The Duke returned,” cried Jeanne, mimicking her.
“Never mind. Fancy waiting nearly seven years for one’s fiance. That was constancy,” said Sonia.
“Oh, you’re a sentimentalist, Mlle. Kritchnoff,” said Jeanne, in a tone of mockery. “It was the influence of the castle.”
“What do you mean?” said Germaine.
“Oh, to own the castle of Charmerace and call oneself Mlle. Gournay-Martin—it’s not worth doing. One MUST become a duchess,” said Jeanne.
“Yes, yes; and for all this wonderful constancy, seven years of it, Germaine was on the point of becoming engaged to another man,” said Marie, smiling.
“And he a mere baron,” said Jeanne, laughing.
“What? Is that true?” said Sonia.
“Didn’t you know, Mlle. Kritchnoff? She nearly became engaged to the Duke’s cousin, the Baron de Relzières. It was not nearly so grand.”