“Since you have done me the honour to make me
your confidant, permit me to say that the little ambush
you laid for Esperance this morning....”
The Duke interrupted, “That ambush was a vulgar
trick, theatrical and cheap. I spare you the
trouble of having to tell me so. I was about to
disclose myself to the young ladies when I heard your
cousin speak my name. Then I kept still, hoping
to learn something. What man could have resisted?
I heard these words spoken to Mlle. Hardouin,
’Yes, the presence of the Duke of Morlay disturbs
me; I do not know if that is love, but I do know that
I do not love Albert.’ They went on towards
the clearing; I was compelled to leave my hiding place.
You know the rest. The cry the child gave, and
her look of reproach unmanned me. I understood
at that moment that I loved in deadly earnest; that
my intention of avenging myself on Albert was nothing
but a vain manifestation of pride, that the ambush
was a cowardly concession to my reputation as a—well,
deceiver of women. You know what I mean.”
He shrugged his shoulders scornfully.
“The man I was trying to be has left the man
I am, and now, Renaud, here is what I want you to
know. Esperance Darbois loves me, I was convinced
of that at the rehearsal. I love her ardently
in return. She will not be happy with Albert,
and I want to marry her. I will employ no ‘illicit
means,’ as the lawyers say. On other scores
I shall feel no remorse to have broken your cousin’s
engagement. My fortune is twice Albert’s;
he is a Count, I a Duke, and what is more, a Frenchman.”
Maurice stood up nervously.
“You are a very gallant man, Duke, and my sympathy
was yours from your first visit to Penhouet, but I
am greatly distressed that you should have made me
your confidant, for I must in honour bound support
Albert.”
“I do not see why! It seems to me that
the happiness of your cousin might count before any
friendship for Albert Styvens.”
“But where is her real happiness, I might say
her lasting happiness?”
The moon had risen radiantly pure. From their
elevation on the terrace, they could overlook all
the garden and park sloping gently to the lake.
In a boat two young girls were rowing. They were
alone.
“You leave me free to act?”
“Absolutely.”
“Till to-morrow,” said Maurice pressing
his hands.
The Duke remained alone on the terrace. He saw
the young man go rapidly towards the lake. He
heard him hail the girls and saw him climb into the
boat with them, then disappear after he had waved with
Genevieve’s handkerchief a signal of adieu.
CHAPTER XXV
When Maurice and Esperance and Genevieve landed, the
Duke was still pacing up and down on the terrace.
Maurice had jumped lightly on to the shore, and had
helped the young girls out, and having taken them
to the Chateau, rejoined the Duke who was waiting for
him.
Copyrights
The Idol of Paris from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
