Page:Hope-indiscretions of duchess.djvu/66

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54
THE INDISCRETION OF THE DUCHESS.

“Oh, certainly!” That had not been my difficulty.

“There is, of course,” she said wearily, “Mont St. Michel. But can you imagine anyone living in such a country?”

“Unless Fate set one here——” I began.

“I suppose that’s it,” she interrupted.

“You are going to make a stay here?”

“I am,” she answered slowly, “on my way to—I don’t know where.”

I was scrutinizing her closely now, for her manner seemed to witness more than indolence; irresolution, vacillation, discomfort, asserted their presence. I could not make her out, but her languid indifference appeared more assumed than real.

With another upward glance, she said:

“My name is Marie Delhasse.”

“It is a well-known name,” said I with a bow.

“You have heard of me?”

“Yes.”

“What?” she asked quickly, wheeling half-round and facing me.

“That you are a great singer,” I answered simply.

“Ah, I’m not all voice! What about me? A woman is more than an organ pipe. What about me?”

Her excitement contrasted with the langour she had displayed before.

“Nothing,” said I, wondering that she should ask a stranger such a question. She glanced at me for an instant. I threw my eyes up to the ceiling.