“I am so glad! These heroes of the salle-d’armes have not the commonest manners. These Gascons are always flamberge au vent. What would the charming Miss Ethel say, if she heard of the dispute?”
“Indeed there is no reason why she should hear of it,” said Lord Kew, “unless some obliging friend should communicate it to her.”
“Communicate it to her—the poor dear! who would be so cruel as to give her pain?” asked the innocent Duchesse. “Why do you look at me so, Frank?”
“Because I admire you,” said her interlocutor, with a bow. “I have never seen Madame la Duchesse to such advantage as to-day.”
“You speak in enigmas! Come back with me to the ballroom. Come and dance with me once more. You used to dance with me. Let us have one waltz more, Kew. And then, and then, in a day or two I shall go back to Monsieur le Duc, and tell him that his filleul is going to marry the fairest of all Englishwomen and to turn hermit in the country, and orator in the Chamber of Peers. You have wit! ah si—you have wit!” And she led back Lord Kew, rather amazed himself at what he was doing, into the ballroom; so that the good-natured people who were there, and who beheld them dancing, could not refrain from clapping their hands at the sight of this couple.
The Duchess danced as if she was bitten by that Neapolitan spider which, according to the legend, is such a wonderful dance-incentor. She would have the music quicker and quicker. She sank on Kew’s arm, and clung on his support. She poured out all the light of her languishing eyes into his face. Their glances rather confused than charmed him. But the bystanders were pleased; they thought it so good-hearted of the Duchesse, after the little quarrel, to make a public avowal of reconciliation!
Lord Rooster looking on, at the entrance of the dancing-room, over Monsieur de Florac’s shoulder, said, “It’s all right! She’s a clipper to dance, the little Duchess.”
“The viper!” said Florac, “how she writhes!”
“I suppose that business with the Frenchman is all over,” says Lord Rooster. “Confounded piece of nonsense.”
“You believe it finished? We shall see!” said Florac, who perhaps knew his fair cousin better. When the waltz was over, Kew led his partner to a seat, and bowed to her; but though she made room for him at her side, pointing to it, and gathering up her rustling robes so that he might sit down, he moved away, his face full of gloom. He never wished to be near her again. There was something more odious to him in her friendship than her hatred. He knew hers was the hand that had dealt that stab at him and Ethel in the morning. He went back and talked with his two friends in the doorway. “Couch yourself, my little Kiou,” said Florac. “You are all pale. You were best in bed, mon garçon!”