a prisoner, for he trembled lest his own private scheme should fail if the duke were angered by this flight.  Those two terrible faces—­his and the duke’s—­wore a fierce expression that was ill-disguised by an air of gallantry imposed by the occasion.  The duke had already sent to his son, ordering him to be present in the salon.  When the company entered it, d’Artagnon saw by the downcast look on Etienne’s face that as yet he did not know of Gabrielle’s escape.

“This is my son,” said the old duke, taking Etienne by the hand and presenting him to the ladies.

Etienne bowed without uttering a word.  The countess and Mademoiselle de Grandlieu exchanged a look which the old man intercepted.

“Your daughter will be ill-matched—­is that your thought?” he said in a low voice.

“I think quite the contrary, my dear duke,” replied the mother, smiling.

The Marquise de Noirmoutier, who accompanied her sister, laughed significantly.  That laugh stabbed Etienne to the heart; already the sight of the tall lady had terrified him.

“Well, Monsieur le duc,” said the duke in a low voice and assuming a lively air, “have I not found you a handsome wife?  What do you say to that slip of a girl, my cherub?”

The old duke never doubted his son’s obedience; Etienne, to him, was the son of his mother, of the same dough, docile to his kneading.

“Let him have a child and die,” thought the old man; “little I care.”

“Father,” said the young man, in a gentle voice, “I do not understand you.”

“Come into your own room, I have a few words to say to you,” replied the duke, leading the way into the state bedroom.

Etienne followed his father.  The three ladies, stirred with a curiosity that was shared by Baron d’Artagnon, walked about the great salon in a manner to group themselves finally near the door of the bedroom, which the duke had left partially open.

“Dear Benjamin,” said the duke, softening his voice, “I have selected that tall and handsome young lady as your wife; she is heiress to the estates of the younger branch of the house of Grandlieu, a fine old family of Bretagne.  Therefore make yourself agreeable; remember all the love-making you have read of in your books, and learn to make pretty speeches.”

“Father, is it not the first duty of a nobleman to keep his word?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, on the day when I forgave you the death of my mother, dying here through her marriage with you, did you not promise me never to thwart my wishes?  ‘I will obey you as the family god,’ were the words you said to me.  I ask nothing of you, I simply demand my freedom in a matter which concerns my life and myself only,—­namely, my marriage.”

“I understood,” replied the old man, all the blood in his body rushing into his face, “that you would not oppose the continuation of our noble race.”

“You made no condition,” said Etienne.  “I do not know what love has to do with race; but this I know, I love the daughter of your old friend Beauvouloir, and the granddaughter of your friend La Belle Romaine.”