“Does he get his deserts?” mockingly inquired Volaski.

“Ah! wretch that I am, why do I live?—­I give him honor and duty; but love! love is not mine to give!” she murmured, in almost inaudible tones.

Their conversation—­if an interview so emotional, so full of “starts and flaws” could be called so—­had been carried on in a very low tone, while the count turned over the leaves of the photographic album, as if examining the portraits, but really without seeing one.

They were, however, so absorbed that neither perceived the approach of a footman until the man actually set down a small golden tray with two little porcelain cups of tea on the stand between them, and retired.

Valerie looked up with a sudden shudder of terror.  Had the company, or any one of their number, overheard any part of the fatal interview?  No, the company were drinking tea, at the other end of the room.

And now the Duke of Hereward, with a tea-cup in his hand, sauntered toward them, saying, as he reached the stand: 

“Lady C. has just been telling me that you are showing the duchess some interesting family pictures there—­among the rest, those of your belle fiancee.  When shall I congratulate you, Count?”

“Not yet; I will advise your grace of my marriage,” answered the count, gravely.

“Something gone wrong in that direction,” thought the duke, but his good humor was invincible.

“If you have no engagement for to-morrow evening, I hope you will come and dine with us en famille, for we do not see much company, the duchess and myself.”

Valerie cast an imploring look on the count, silently praying him to decline the invitation; but Volaski did not understand the meaning of the look, or did not care to do so, for he immediately accepted the invitation in the following unequivocal terms: 

“I have no engagement for to-morrow; and I shall be very happy to come and dine with you.”

“So be it then,” said the duke, frankly.  “Now, Valerie, my love, bid the count good-evening.  It is time to go.”

The young duchess arose wearily from the sofa, and slightly courtesied her adieux.

The count stood up and bowed with a profound reverence that seemed ironical to her sensitive mind.

The guests were now all taking leave of their host and hostess.

The Duke and Duchess of Hereward were among the last to go.

“I am very sorry that I brought you out this evening, love.  I saw—­indeed, every one saw, and could not help seeing—­that this dinner-party has been a great trial to you.  It will not bear an encore.  You must have time to recover your cheerfulness, dearest, before you are again brought into a large company,” said the duke, kindly, as soon as they were seated together in their carriage.

“Did people attribute my dullness to—­to—­to—­,” began Valerie, by way of saying something, but her voice faltered and broke down.