She seemed hurt at the serious way in which Gustave took her joke.
“If I had told the truth, you wouldn’t have come,” she said in justification.
“Not another word is necessary,” said I, with a bow.
“Then let us sup,” said the duchess, and she took the armchair at the head of the table.
We began to eat and drink, serving ourselves. Presently Gustave entered, stood regarding us for a moment, and then flung himself into the third chair and poured out a glass of wine. The duchess took no notice of him.
“Mlle, de Berensac was called away?” I suggested.
“She was called away,” answered the duchess.
“Suddenly?”
“No,” said the duchess, her eyes again full of complicated expressions. I laughed. Then she broke out in a plaintive cry: “Oh! were you ever dying—dying—dying of weariness?”
Gustave made no reply; the frown on his face persisted.
“Isn’t it a pity,” I asked, “to wreck a pleasant party for the sake of a fine distinction? The presence of Mlle. de Berensac would have infinitely increased our pleasure; but how would it have diminished our crime?”
“I wish I had known you sooner, Mr. Aycon,” said the duchess; “then I needn’t have asked him at all.”
I bowed, but I was content with things as they were. The duchess sat with the air of a
