The face of Egmont de St. Angel changed to a deadly pallor.
“That woman,” he said, “was my wife, but she disappeared in Algeria, and I have not seen her or heard of her for seven years, so that I have a legal right to presume that she is dead.”
“Oh, what a terrible lie you are telling!” answered Diane. “You have heard from her in the last year, but you thought she was out of the way in Algeria. And I don’t think now that you ever really meant to marry me.”
Here was the chance of the Marquis. He smiled and answered:
“Well, I was doing you a great honor in taking up with you on any terms.”
He had remained standing, and Diane rose, too, and went toward the bedroom door of Madame Grandin. She opened it suddenly, and Madame Grandin, who had been on her knees listening at the keyhole, tumbled into the room, but speedily got up on her feet. Behind her were Grandin, François, and Jean.
Then Diane turned, and, walking back to the Marquis, lifted up her strong, young hand and gave him a terrible blow on the cheek.
The Marquis, stunned with surprise, staggered back, then, recovering himself, advanced with his fist uplifted. The gaze of the man and woman met, hate and fury in the eyes of the Marquis, fury and hate in those of Diane.
Meanwhile, the Grandins, François, and Jean had all burst into a concerted stage laugh.
“Come now, my dear Marquis of the Holy Angels!” cried François; “you haven’t done the handsome thing, I must say, and this young lady has served you right.”