“Not for me.”
Denise looked at him, and he dropped his eyes, for he understood the calm reproach.
“Very well,” she said, with decision. “I go to my home to-morrow. You shall have my answer in four days at the Château de Beau Séjour if you care enough to come and hear it.”
“If—” he broke off. “Ah, Denise—!” he stretched out a passionate hand.
“Hush! There is some one coming.”
A young man was galloping towards them, a boy he seemed, saucy, insolent, handsome, fair, with great blue eyes sparkling with the gayest, wickedest, most careless joy of living. Removing his plumed hat with an airy sweep he kissed the lady’s fingers, bowed low in the saddle, and looked into her face:
“Marquise,” were his words, “the company and His Majesty await you.” His dare-devil eyes roved on to André’s face with a studied insouciance, but André gave him back the look, and more.
Denise made haste to present the young man. “Monsieur le Chevalier de St. Amant, secretary of the King’s Cabinet,” she said and her eyes pleaded for politeness from both.
“Monsieur le Vicomte goes to the war?” the Chevalier asked, carelessly.
“As all true subjects of His Majesty ought to do,” André retorted.