What answer could I make? The truth—that for all my fine talk, I was at heart and in a sense right glad that she was not to become Andrea's wife—would have seemed ungallant. Moreover, I must have added the explanation that I desired to see her no man's wife, so that I might not seem to contradict myself. Therefore—
“In truth, Mademoiselle,” I answered, lying glibly, “it would have given me more pleasure had Andrea chosen to obey his Eminence.”
Her manner froze upon the instant.
“In the consideration of your friend's advancement,” she replied, half contemptuously, “you forget, M. de Luynes, to consider me. Am I, then, a thing to be bartered into the hands of the first fortune-hunter who woos me because he has been bidden so to do, and who is to marry me for political purposes? Pshaw, M. de Luynes!” she added, with a scornful laugh, “after all, I was a fool to expect aught else from—”
She checked herself abruptly, and a sudden access of mercy left the stinging “you” unuttered. I stood by, dumb and sheepish, not understanding how the words that I had deemed gallant could have brought this tempest down upon my head. Before I could say aught that might have righted matters, or perchance made them worse—“Since you leave Canaples to-morrow,” quoth she, “I will say 'Adieu,' Monsieur, for it is unlikely that we shall meet again.”
With a slight inclination of her head, and withholding her hand intentionally, she moved away, whilst I stood, as only a fool or a statue would stand, and watched her go.
Once she paused, and, indeed, half turned, whereupon hope knocked at my heart again; but before I had admitted it, she had resumed her walk towards the house. Hungrily I followed her graceful, lissom figure with my eyes until she had crossed the threshold. Then, with a dull ache in my breast, I flung myself upon a stone seat, and, addressing myself to the setting sun for want of a better audience, I roundly cursed her sex for the knottiest puzzle that had ever plagued the mind of man in the unravelling.
CHAPTER XVII. FATHER AND SON
“Gaston,” quoth Andrea next morning, “you will remain at Canaples until to-morrow? You must, for to-morrow I am to be wed, and I would fain have your good wishes ere you go.”