“Now I know all about it,” said the duchess, perceiving my revival. “I’ve heard it all from Suzanne and Jean—or anyhow I can guess the rest. And you mustn’t tire yourself by talking. I had you brought here so that you might be well looked after; because we’re so much indebted to you, you know.”
“Is the duke here?” I asked.
“Oh, dear, no; it’s all right,” nodded the duchess. “I don’t know—and I do not care—where the duke is. Drink this milk, Mr. Aycon. Your arm’s not very bad, you know—Jean says it isn’t, I mean—but you’d better have milk first, and something to eat when you feel stronger.”
The duchess appeared to be in excellent spirits. She caught up a bit of toast from the table, poured out a cup of coffee, and, still moving about, began a light breakfast, with every sign of appetite and enjoyment.
“You’ve come back?” said I, looking at her in persistent surprise.
Suzanne put the cushions behind my back in a more comfortable position, smiled kindly on us, and left us.
“Yes,” said the duchess, “I have for the present, Mr. Aycon.”
“But—but the duke” I stammered.
“I don’t mind the duke,” said she. “Besides, he may not come. It’s rather nice that you’re just a little hurt. Don’t you think so, Mr. Aycon? Just a little, you know.”
“Why?” was all I found to say. The reason was not clear to me.
“Why, in the first place, because you can’t
