Part 56 (1/2)

The Duke drew a deep breath of relief. Andre's manner had checked and restrained him, for it was frigid and glacial to a degree. What a difference there was between the haughty mien of Andre and the gus.h.i.+ng effusiveness of Paul!

”Will you permit me,” asked Andre, ”to address a few words to you?”

”A few words?”

”Yes. I do not like to use the word 'conditions,' but I think that you will understand what I mean. My daily toil for bread gave me neither the means nor the leisure which I required to cultivate my art, for that is a profession that I could never give up.”

”You will be certainly your own master.”

Andre paused, as if to reflect.

”This is not all I had to say,” he continued at last. ”I love and am loved by a pure and beautiful girl; our marriage is arranged, and I think--”

”I think,” broke in the Duke, ”that you could not love any one who was not a fit bride for a member of our family.”

”But I did not belong to this family yesterday. Be at ease, however, for she is worthy of a Champdoce. I am engaged to Sabine de Mussidan.”

A deadly paleness overspread the Duke's face as he heard this name.

”Never,” said he. ”Never; I would rather see you dead at my feet.”

”And I would gladly suffer ten thousand deaths than give her up.”

”Suppose I refuse my consent? Suppose that I forbid----”