The duchess’ words struck on my ear and her dainty little figure was before my eyes, but my thoughts were absent from her.

“Don’t go, Mr. Aycon,” said she.

“I must go,” I said.  “By this time he’ll be at the convent.”

A frown gathered on the duchess’ face.

“What concern is it of yours?” she asked.  “I—­I mean, what good can you do?”

“I can hardly talk to you about it—­” I began awkwardly; but the duchess saved me the trouble of finishing my sentence, for she broke in angrily: 

“Oh, as if I believe that!  Mr. Aycon, why are you going?”

“I’m going to see that the duke doesn’t—­”

“Oh, you are very anxious—­and very good, aren’t you?  Yes, and very chivalrous!  Mr. Aycon, I don’t care what he does;” and she looked at me defiantly.

“But I do,” said I, and seeing my hat on the cabinet by the wall, I walked across the room and stretched out my hand for it.  The duchess darted after me and stood between my hat and me.

“Why do you care?” she asked, with a stamp of her small foot.

There were, no doubt, many most sound and plausible reasons for caring—­reasons independent of any private feelings of my own in regard to Marie Delhasse; but not one of them did I give to the duchess.  I stood before her, looking, I fear, very embarrassed, and avoiding her accusing eyes.

Then the duchess flung her head back, and with passionate scorn said to me: 

“I believe you’re in love with the woman yourself!”

And to this accusation also I made no reply.

“Are you really going?” she asked, her voice suddenly passing to a note of entreaty.

“I must go,” said I obstinately, callously, curtly.

“Then go!” cried the duchess.  “And never let me see you again!”

She moved aside, and I sprang forward and seized my hat.  I took no notice of the duchess, and, turning, I walked straight toward the door.  But before I reached it the duchess flung herself on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions.  I would not leave her like that, so I stood and waited; but my tongue still refused to find excuses, and still I was in a fever to be off.

But the duchess rose again and stood upright.  She was rather pale and her lips quivered, but she held out her hand to me with a smile.  And suddenly I understood what I was doing, and that for the second time the proud little lady before me saw herself left and neglected for the sake of that woman whose presence made even a convent uninhabitable to her; and the bitter wound that her pride suffered was declared in her bearing and in the pathetic effort at dignity which she had summoned up to hide her pain.  Yet, although on this account I was sorry for her, I discerned nothing beyond hurt pride, and was angry at the pride for the sake of Marie Delhasse, and when I spoke it was in defense of Marie Delhasse, and not in comfort to the duchess.