“Delicate considerations, true, but I fear they do not interest Monsieur Soi-disant. How should they indeed? Gossip, monsieur, gossip! At our age, as you might say, we must be chattering. I know you are uncomfortable on that chair. Do, monsieur, please take another.”
This time he was convinced of his first suspicion that she was having her revenge for his tactless remark to her husband, for he had not stirred at all in his chair, but had only reddened, and she had a smile at the corners of her mouth.
“At my age, Madame la Duchesse, we are quite often impertinent fools. There is, however, but one age—the truly golden. We reach it when we fall first in love, and there love keeps us. His Grace, Madame la Duchesse, is, I am sure, the happiest of men.”
She was seated opposite him. Leaning forward a little, she put forth her hand in a motherly, unembarrassed way, and placed it for a moment on his knee, looking into his face, smiling.
“Good boy! good boy!” she said.
And then she rose as if to hint that it was time for him to go.
“I see you are impatient; perhaps you may meet the Duke on his way back.”
“Charmed, Madame la Duchesse, I assure you,” said the Count with a grimace, and they both fell into laughing.
She recovered herself first to scan the shoes and coat again. “How droll!” said she. “Ah, monsieur, you are delightful in your foibles, but I wish it had looked like any other coat than Simon Mac-Taggart's. I have never seen his without wondering how many dark secrets were underneath the velvet. Had this coat of yours been a perfect fit, believe me I had not expected much from you of honour or of decency. Oh! there I go on chattering again, and you have said scarcely twenty words.”
“Believe me, Madame la Duchesse, it is because I can find none good enough to express my gratitude,” said Count Victor, making for the door.