THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
rers made way; he did not see the figure at the heels of Dorset.
“Madame,” said his grace, with a noble flourish of the arm, “I present to you a gentleman of fine distinction in Germany and England, a gallant captain in the Marine of France—René Bras-de-Fer—Monsieur le Chevalier Mornay.”
During the prelude she had sat complaisantly, a queen in the center of her court. But as Mornay came forward she arose and drew herself to her splendid height, looking at the Frenchman coldly, her lips framed for the words she would have uttered. But Monsieur Mornay spoke first.
“Madame,” he said, quietly, his hand upon his heart, “I am come for the coranto.”
She looked at him in blank amazement, but for a moment no sound came from her lips.
“Monsieur,” she stammered at last in breathless anger—“monsieur—”
Mornay affected not to hear her.
“The coranto, madame,” he said, amusedly; “madame has promised me the coranto.”
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