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 child who has been told that she is naughty, but declines to
accept the statement. I was puzzled at the stern morality exhibited by my
friend Gustave. His next remark threw some light on his feelings.

"Heavens! if it became known, what would be thought?" he demanded
suddenly.