she did not see me. She looked up, smiled, yawned, and held out her hand.
"I hardly expected you, Armand," said she. "I thought you were in Algeria."
Anybody would have been annoyed; there is no doubt that the Duke of Saint-Maclou was very much annoyed.
"You don't seem overjoyed at the surprise," said he gruffly.
"You are always surprising me," she answered, lifting her eyebrows.
Suddenly he turned round, saying "Sampson!" and then turned to her, adding:
"Here’s another old friend for you." And he seized me by the shoulder and pulled me into the room.
The duchess sprang to her feet, crying out in startled tones, "Back?"
I kept my eyes glued to the floor, wondering what would happen next, thinking that it would be, likely enough, a personal conflict with my master.
"Yes, back," said he. "I am sorry, madame, if it is not your pleasure, for it chances to be mine."
His sneer gave the duchess a moment's time. I felt her regarding me, and I looked up cautiously. The duke still stood half a pace in front of me, and the message of my glance sped past him unperceived.
Then came what I had looked for—the gradual dawning of the position on the duchess, and the reflection of that dawning light in those wonderful eyes of hers. She clasped her hands,
