“Gentlemen”—­she turned to the rest of the company, who stood stupefied—­“I fear I cannot ask you to remain with me longer.  The hour is late, and I am—­as you see—­indisposed.  But I trust, on some future occasion, I may have the honor—­”

She looked round upon them, challenging and defying them all.

Montresor went up to her.

“My dear old friend, let me introduce to you M. du Bartas, of the French Foreign Office.”

At this appeal to her English hospitality and her social chivalry, Lady Henry looked grimly at the Frenchman.

“M. du Bartas, I am charmed to make your acquaintance.  With your leave, I will pursue it when I am better able to profit by it.  To-morrow I will write to you to propose another meeting—­should my health allow.”

“Enchante, madame,” murmured the Frenchman, more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life.  “Permettez—­moi de vous faire mes plus sinceres excuses.”

“Not at all, monsieur, you owe me none.”

Montresor again approached her.

“Let me tell you,” he said, imploringly, “how this has happened—­how innocent we all are—­”

“Another time, if you please,” she said, with a most cutting calm.  “As I said before, it is late.  If I had been equal to entertaining you”—­she looked round upon them all—­“I should not have told my butler to make my excuses.  As it is, I must beg you to allow me to bid you good-night.  Jacob, will you kindly get the Duchess her cloak?  Good-night.  Good-night.  As you see”—­she pointed to the sticks which supported her—­“I have no hands to-night.  My infirmities have need of them.”

Montresor approached her again, in real and deep distress.

“Dear Lady Henry—­”

“Go!” she said, under her breath, looking him in the eyes, and he turned and went without a word.  So did the Duchess, whimpering, her hand in Delafield’s arm.  As she passed Julie, who stood as though turned to stone, she made a little swaying movement towards her.

“Dear Julie!” she cried, imploringly.

But Lady Henry turned.

“You will have every opportunity to-morrow,” she said.  “As far as I am concerned, Miss Le Breton will have no engagements.”

Lord Lackington quietly said, “Good-night, Lady Henry,” and, without offering to shake hands, walked past her.  As he came to the spot where Julie Le Breton stood, that lady made a sudden, impetuous movement towards him.  Strange words were on her lips, a strange expression in her eyes.

“You must help me,” she said, brokenly.  “It is my right!”

Was that what she said?  Lord Lackington looked at her in astonishment.  He did not see that Lady Henry was watching them with eagerness, leaning heavily on her sticks, her lips parted in a keen expectancy.

Then Julie withdrew.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, hurriedly.  “I beg your pardon.  Good-night.”