Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door.
"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She loves him!"
In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself.
"Peste, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de Bonzag—faugh!"
Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to the dining-room.
Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale eyes.
"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially.
"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte—"
"Well, what do you want to say?"
"M'sieur was in real earnest?"