"I am remaining until to-morrow," said I awkwardly.
"Vraiement!" was all she answered, and she was gone.
Next morning the Chevalier and I breakfasted alone. Mademoiselle's
migraine was worse. Genevi?ve was nursing, so her maid brought word--
whilst Andrea had gone out an hour before and had not returned.
The Chevalier shot me an apologetic glance across the board.
"'T is a poor 'God speed' to you, M. de Luynes."
I made light of it and turned the conversation into an indifferent channel,
wherein it abided until, filling himself a bumper of Anjou, the Chevalier
solemnly drank to my safe journey and good fortune in Paris.
At that moment Andrea entered by the door abutting on the terrace balcony.
He was flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a joyous fever. Profuse was he
in his apologies, which, howbeit, were passing vague in character, and
which he brought to a close by pledging me as the Chevalier had done
already.
As we rose, Genevi?ve appeared with the news that Yvonne was somewhat
better, adding that she had come to take leave of me. Her composure
surprised me gladly, for albeit in her eyes there was also a telltale
light, the lids, demurely downcast as was her wont, amply screened it from
the vulgar gaze.
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