But there was none. She was not thinking of him, but of that unfortunate man convicted of treason, disgraced and languishing in gaol—and of Filoména Nodari, the woman who had foully betrayed him.
“You are sad to-night,” he managed to whisper to her as they turned together from the singers.
She nodded, but no response escaped her lips.
Her feelings towards Jules Dubard were mixed ones. She found him a very pleasant and entertaining companion, always courteous, elegant of manner, and excessively polite—the kind of man who at once attracted a woman. And yet somehow, when she came to calmly analyse her regard for him, she found it to be based merely upon his attractive personality; or, in other words, it was little more than a mere flirtation, which may be forgiven of every woman who is courted and flattered as she was.
True, he had, in a kind of joking manner, more than once declared his love for her. But she had always affected to treat his words as empty and meaningless, and to assume that they were good friends and nothing more. At heart, however, she knew that both her parents would be pleased to see her marry this man; for not only would she be the wife of a wealthy landowner, but would also obtain the ancient and honoured title of Comtesse Dubard.
Sometimes, in the secrecy of her room, she sat and reflected upon the whole situation, but on each occasion she arrived at the same distinct and unalterable conclusion. She admired Jules; she was fond of his society, and he was, even though his Gallic elegance of manner was a trifle forced, nevertheless a perfect gentleman. But surely there was a great breach between admiration and actual affection.
What he had told her out on the terrace in the sundown, however, showed plainly that he was really her father’s friend. And yet, strangely enough, he did not wish her to alarm her father unduly. Why? she wondered. If that grave peril actually existed he should surely be forewarned!
“What I told you this evening has, I fear, upset you, signorina,” Dubard said in a low, sympathetic voice. “But do not be disquieted. I will assist your father in thwarting this conspiracy against him. Do not tell Her Excellency a word. It would be harmful for her, you know.”
“I shall say nothing,” was her reply. “But,” she added, “I cannot help feeling anxious, especially as you suggest that I shall not write to my father and warn him.”
“Oh, write if you wish,” he exclaimed quickly. “Only recollect all that I have told you is only hearsay. Therefore, I think it unwise to arouse your father’s apprehensions if the rumour of the conspiracy is baseless. No?” he went on. “Remain patient, and leave everything to me.”