But this weakness was no more than momentary.
“Out of my house, sir!” he blazed, turning upon Andrea, and for a moment methought he would have struck him. “Out of my house—you and this wife of yours!”
“Father!” sobbed Geneviève, with hands outstretched in entreaty.
“Out of my house,” he repeated, “and you also, M. de Luynes. Away with you! Go with the master you have served so well.” And, turning on his heel, he strode towards the door.
“Father—dear father!” cried Geneviève, following him: he slammed the door in her face for answer.
With a moan she sank down upon her knees, her frail body shaken by convulsive sobs—Dieu! what a bridal morn was hers!
Andrea and Yvonne raised her and led her to a chair. Eugène watched them with a cynical eye, then laughed brutally, and, gathering up his hat and cloak, he moved towards the balcony door and vanished.
“Is M. de Luynes still there?” quoth Geneviève presently.
“I am here, Madame.”
“You had best set out, Monsieur,” she said. “We shall follow soon—very soon.”