The other looked at him soberly a moment, then went off again.

"Monsieur, monsieur!" he gasped, "you'll be the death of me. For
the love of Heaven look less fierce. Is it my fault that I must
laugh? The folly of it all is so colossal. Three years from home,
yet there is a woman keeps faithful and holds to a promise given
for her. Come, monsieur, you who have seen the world, you must
agree that there is in this something that is passing singular,
extravagantly amusing. My poor little Valerie!" he spluttered
through his half-checked mirth, "does she wait for me still? does
she count me still betrothed to her? And because of that, says
'No' to brother Marius! Death of my life! I shall die of it."

"I have a notion that you may, monsieur," rasped Garnache's voice,
and with it rasped Garnache's chair upon the boards. He had
risen, and he was confronting his merry host very fiercely, white
to the lips, his eyes aflame. There was no mistaking his attitude,
no mistaking his words.

"Eh?" gasped the other, recovering himself at last to envisage what
appeared to develop into a serious situation.

"Monsieur," said Garnache, his voice very cold, "do I understand
that you no longer intend to carry out your engagement and wed
Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye?"

A dull flush spread upon the Marquis's face. He rose too, and
across the table he confronted his guest, his mien haughty, his
eyes imperious.