fight till your arm’s well—oh, yes, of course Armand was going to fight you—and, in the second place, you can and must stay here. There’s no harm in it, while you’re ill, you see; Armand can’t say there is. It’s rather funny, isn’t it, Mr. Aycon?” and she munched a morsel of toast, and leaned her elbows on the table and sent a sparkling glance across at me, for all the world as she had done on the first night I knew her. The cares of the world did not gall the shoulders of Mme. de Saint-Maclou.
“But why are you here?” said I, sticking to my point.
The duchess set down the cup of coffee which she had been sipping.
“I am not particular,” said she. “But I told the Mother Superior exactly what I told the duke. She wouldn’t listen any more than he would. However, I was resolved; so I came here. I don’t see where else I could go, do you, Mr. Aycon?”
“What did you tell the Mother?”
The duchess stretched one hand across the table, clenching her small fist and tapping gently with it on the cloth.
“There is one thing that I will not do, Mr. Aycon,” said she, a touch of red coming in her cheeks and her lips set in obstinate lines. “I don’t care whether the house is my house or anybody else’s house, or an inn—yes, or a convent either. But I will not be under the same roof with Marie Delhasse.”
And her declaration finished, the duchess
