“She read it, and cried ‘Ah!’ in great satisfaction, and immediately ordered a carriage and that the maid should pack all her luggage and the young lady’s. Oh! she was in a great hurry, and in the best of spirits; and she pressed us on so that I was not able to attend properly to you, sir. And finally, as you saw, she drove off to the house of the duke, still in high good humor.”
The waiter paused. I sat silent in thought.
“Is there anything else you wish to know, sir?” asked the waiter.
Then my much-tried temper gave way again.
“I want to know what the devil it all means!” I roared.
The waiter drew near, wearing a very sympathetic expression. I knew that he had always put me down as an admirer of Marie Delhasse. He saw in me now a beaten rival. Curiously I had something of the feeling myself.
“There is one thing, sir,” said he. “The stable-boy told me. The message for Mlle. Delhasse was brought from a carriage which waited at the bottom of the hill, out of sight of the town. And—well, sir, the servants wore no livery; but the boy declares that the horses were those of the Duke of Saint-Maclou.”
I muttered angrily to myself. The waiter, discreetly ignoring my words, continued:
“And, indeed, sir, madame expected to meet her daughter. For I chanced to ask her if she would take with her a bouquet of roses which she had purchased in the town, and she an-
