“Count who?” asked Rochester. “Or has he, like his ladylove, no other name?”
“Oh, no! The name of the gentleman who was so nearly blessed for life, and missed it, is Count L'Estrange!”
The earl had been lying listlessly back, only half intent upon his answer, as he watched the fire; but now he sprang sharply up, and stared Ormiston full in the face.
“Count what did you say?” was his eager question, while his eyes, more eager than his voice, strove to read the reply before it was repeated.
“Count L'Estrange. You know him, my lord?” said Ormiston, quietly.
“Ah!” said the earl. And then such a strange meaning smile went wandering about his face. “I have not said that! So his name is Count L'Estrange? Well, I don't wonder now at the girl's beauty.”
The earl sank back to his former nonchalant position and fell for a moment or two into deep musing; and then, as if the whole thing struck him in a new and ludicrous light, he broke out into an immoderate fit of laughter. Ormiston looked at him curiously.
“It is my turn to ask questions, now, my lord. Who is Count L'Estrange?”
“I know of no such person, Ormiston. I was thinking of something else! Was it Leoline who told you that was her lover's name?”
“No; I heard it by mere accident from another person. I am sure, if Leoline is not a personage in disguise, he is.”