“Continue, sir,” broke in Diana haughtily.  “Insult a defenceless girl with her poverty!  It is a noble act, and one worthy of a high-born gentleman like yourself!”

“I believed,” said the Duke, “that I was addressing the woman whose advice had led my son to break into open rebellion against my authority.  Am I right or wrong?  You can prove me to be mistaken by urging upon Norbert the necessity for submission.”

She made no reply, but bent her head upon her bosom.

“You see,” continued the Duke, “that I am correct, and that if you continue to act as you have done, I shall be justified in retaliating in any manner that I may deem fit.  You have now been warned.  Carry on this intrigue at your peril.”

He placed such an insulting emphasis upon the word “intrigue” that Diana’s anger rose to boiling point.  At that instant, for the sake of vengeance, she would have risked her honor, her ambition, her very life itself.

Forgetting all prudence, she cast aside her mask of affected indifference, and, with her eyes flashing angry gleams of fire, and her cheeks burning, she said,—­

“Listen to me.  I, too, have sworn an oath, and it is that Norbert shall be my husband; and I tell you that he shall be so!  Shut him up in prison, subject him to every indignity at the hands of your menials, but you will never break his spirit, or make him go back from his plighted word.  If I bid him, he will resist your will even unto the bitter end.  He and I will never yield.  Believe me when I tell you, that before you attack a young girl’s honor, you had better pause; for one day she will be a member of your family.  Farewell.”

Before the Duke could recover his senses, Diana was far down the path on her way homewards; and then he burst into a wild storm of menaces, oaths, and insults.  He fancied that he was alone, but he was mistaken; for the whole of that strange scene had a hidden witness, and that witness was Daumon.  He had heard of the treatment of the young Marquis from one of his servants at the Chateau, and his first thought had been to acquaint Diana with it.  Unfortunately he saw no means of doing this.  He dared not go to Laurebourg, and he would have died sooner than put pen to paper.  He was in a position of the deepest embarrassment when the idea struck him of going to the lovers’ trysting place.  The little cry that Diana had uttered upon perceiving the Duke had put him upon his guard.  Bruno had found him out; but, as he knew him, merely fawned upon him.  He was delighted at the fury of the Duke, whom he hated with cold and steady malignity; but the courage of Diana filled him with admiration.  Her sublime audacity won his warmest praises, and he longed for her as an ally to aid him in his scheme of revenge.  He knew that the girl would find herself in a terribly embarrassing position, and thus she would be sure to call upon him for advice before returning home.

“Now,” thought he, “if I wish to profit by her anger, I ought to strike while the iron is hot; and to do so, I should be at home to meet her.”