The mocking light deepened a little in the Duke’s eyes.
“Yes. But if I had been killed, everybody would have said, ‘The Duke of Charmerace has been killed in a duel about Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin.’ That would have sounded very fine indeed,” said the Duke; and a touch of mockery had crept into his voice.
“Now, don’t begin trying to annoy me again,” said Germaine pettishly.
“The last thing I should dream of, my dear girl,” said the Duke, smiling.
“And De Relzières? Is he wounded?” said Germaine.
“Poor dear De Relzières: he won’t be out of bed for the next six months,” said the Duke; and he laughed lightly and gaily.
“Good gracious!” cried Germaine.
“It will do poor dear De Relzières a world of good. He has a touch of enteritis; and for enteritis there is nothing like rest,” said the Duke.
Sonia was not getting on very quickly with the wedding-cards. Germaine was sitting with her back to her; and over her shoulder Sonia could watch the face of the Duke—an extraordinarily mobile face, changing with every passing mood. Sometimes his eyes met hers; and hers fell before them. But as soon as they turned away from her she was watching him again, almost greedily, as if she could not see enough of his face in which strength of will and purpose was mingled with a faint, ironic scepticism, and tempered by a fine air of race.
He finished his tea; then he took a morocco case from his pocket, and said to Germaine, “It must be quite three days since I gave you anything.”