Gustave rose, flinging his napkin on the table.
“I shall follow her to-morrow,” he said. “I suppose you’ll go back to England, Gilbert?”
If Gustave left us, it was my unhesitating resolve to return to England.
“I suppose I shall,” said I.
“I suppose you must,” said the duchess ruefully. “Oh, isn’t it exasperating? I had planned it all so delightfully!”
“If you had told the truth——” began Gustave.
“I should not have had a preacher to supper,” said the duchess sharply; then she fell to laughing again.
“Is Mlle. de Berensac irrecoverable?” I suggested.
“Why, yes. She has gone to take her turn of attendance on your rich old aunt, Gustave.”
I think that there was a little malice in the duchess’ way of saying this.
There seemed nothing more to be done. The duchess herself did not propose to defy conventionality to the extent of inviting me to stay. To do her justice, as soon as the inevitable was put before her, she accepted it with good grace, and, after supper, busied herself in discovering the time and manner in which her guests might pursue their respective journeys. I may be flattering myself, but I thought that she displayed a melancholy satisfaction on discovering that Gustave de Berensac must leave at ten o’clock the next morning, whereas I should be left to kick my heels in idleness at Cherbourg if I set out before five in the afternoon.
