“But the advertisement is not utterly lost,” bellowed Grandin. “I only hope Mademoiselle Rose will have an adventure with a marquis.”
“Oh,” cried Madame Grandin, reproachfully, to her husband, “you always think of advertising first! Well, Diane expected something great to happen at Bienville, and I am sure something great _has_ happened.”
Only Jean lingered a moment as he passed Diane, his strong face working in agitation.
“Oh, no!” cried Diane, catching him by the sleeve, “that would be doing him a service. And besides, it would cost your life. No, leave him to me; I will do much worse than kill him.”
Jean went out, and Diane, taking off her hat and cloak, busied herself with arranging a little supper on a tray for Madame Egmont and the child. She took it in, stirred up the fire once more, and lighted a softly shaded lamp. Madame Egmont made no fresh protests of gratitude, but her eyes were eloquent, and the little girl clung to Diane. Warmth and food and attendance were luxuries to the wife and child of the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel.
The next morning at ten o’clock a handsome livery carriage drove up to the door, and the Marquis in ordinary morning dress got out and came upstairs. He knocked gayly at the door of the little sitting-room, and Diane’s clear voice called out:
The Marquis entered, and, instead of seeing Diane in bridal array, found her wearing her ordinary black morning gown, and sitting by the table with a basket of stockings before her which she was darning industriously. He started in surprise, and said:
“What is the meaning of this, Diane? I have come for you and Madame Grandin.”
“I am not going to be married to-day,” responded Diane, coolly, holding up a stocking to the light and clipping a thread; “I have changed my mind.”
The Marquis stood in stunned surprise for a few moments, then gradually an angry flush overspread his handsome face, and he shouted:
“What do you mean? This is the most extraordinary conduct I have ever known.”
“Not half as extraordinary as yours,” answered Diane, still darning away diligently.
“I demand an explanation,” replied the Marquis, violently. “I do not choose to be treated in this manner.”
Diane finished a pair of stockings, smoothed them out, rolled them up carefully, laid her sewing implements in the basket, and taking from her pocket the locket of the Marquis and his wife and child, showed it to him.