The Vicomte was so disturbed at the mention of my departure that the topic had been carefully avoided during dinner, though I make no doubt that he knew my purpose in refusing to go to the drawing-room.
I was at work in my room--between the two tall candles--when the rustle of a woman's dress in the open doorway made me look up. Lucille had come into the room--her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. And I knew, or thought I knew, her thoughts.
"My father tells me that you are going to leave us," she said in her impetuous way.
"Yes, Mademoiselle."
"I have come to ask you not to do so. You may--think what you like."
I did not look at her, but guessed the expression of her determined lips.
"And you are too proud," I said, "to explain. You think that I, like a schoolboy, am going off in a f
