“How now, Gabrielle?” said the Queen, turning to Mademoiselle.
“I hate him!” she cried. I could see du Trémigon wince.
“You hear, Monsieur?”
“I hear, Madame, but”—he tore off the disguise now and spoke with savage firmness—“Mademoiselle must marry me.”
“Must, sir! These are strange words to use to your queen.”
“I speak to a woman now,” answered the Marquis.
“Explain yourself.”
“Mademoiselle is seriously compromised.”
I could see the Countess start and clench her hands. The Queen motioned her to remain silent.
“How is that, Monsieur?” she asked quietly.