“To your recent double bereavement?—­certainly they did, my love.  They knew

’No crowds
Make up for parents in their shrouds,’

and were not cruel enough to criticise your filial grief, my Valerie.”

“I am glad of that; but I am very sorry you have invited the Count de Volaski to dinner to-morrow.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because I do not like company.”

“He is only one guest and will dine with us quietly.  He will amuse you.”

“No, he will not; he will bore me.  I wish you would write and put him off.”

“Impossible, my dear Valerie!  What earthly excuse could I make for such an unpardonable piece of rudeness?”

“Tell him that I am ill, out of spirits, anything you like so that you tell him not to come.”

“My dearest one, you certainly are ill and out of spirits, and very morbid besides.  So much the more reason why you should be gently aroused and amused.  Dinner parties weary and distress you; but the count’s visit will relieve and amuse you.”

“Oh!  I do think I ought to know what is good for me and what I want better than any one else,” exclaimed Valerie, speaking impatiently to the duke for the first time during their married life.

“But you don’t, love; that is all.  The count is coming to dine with us to-morrow.  That is settled.  Now, here we are at home,” said the duke, as the carriage rolled through the massive archway and entered the court-yard of the magnificent Hotel de la Motte.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A GATHERING STORM.

After a night of sleeplessness and anguish, Valerie arose to a day of duplicity and terror.

The anticipation of the evening was intolerable to her; the prospect of sitting down at her own table between the Duke of Hereward and the Count de Volaski overwhelmed her with a sense of horror and loathing.

Faint, pale, and trembling, she descended to the breakfast-room, where she found the duke already awaiting her.

Shocked at her aspect, he hastened to meet her and lead her to an easy-chair on the right of the breakfast-table.

“You are not able to be out of your bed, Valerie.  You should not have attempted to rise,” he said, as he carefully seated her.

“I told you last night that I was very ill,” she answered coldly, as she sank wearily back on the cushion.

“That infernal dinner party!  It has prostrated you quite.  I am so grieved; I will not suffer you to be so severely tried again!” said the duke, vehemently.

“And you will write this morning and put off the count’s visit,” pleaded Valerie.

“No, my dear, I cannot,” answered the duke, regretfully.

“Then I cannot come down to dinner.  That is all,” she said, sullenly closing her eyes.

“I shall be sorry for that; but we must do the best we can without you for the count, having been invited, must be permitted to come.”