Jean, almost as pale as Diane, spoke composedly:
“I wish you happiness, Diane,” he said. “Now, tell us all about it.”
“We are to be married this day three weeks,” said Diane. “When I think of it I am so happy I feel as if I could fly. The Marquis has a little shooting-box an hour from here, and we are to drive there, the Marquis and I and Madame Grandin. She will be one of my witnesses, and the Marquis will provide the other. The civil and religious ceremonies will both take place the same day. The Marquis says his colonel will take a hand in the business, but that he can manage that.”
A slight chill fell upon all present. Diane, realizing it, blushed and felt every inch a traitor. Then Jean spoke:
“It seems to me, Diane,” he said, “that you ought to have some man friend with you, M. Grandin, for example. Not that _I_ wish to go. Oh, no, not for a moment!”
As Jean said these words, his strong, clean-shaven face was distorted for an instant. Everybody knew that he least of any one in the world wished to see Diane married to another man.
“Diane is a quick study,” said François, laughing, “but it will take her all of three weeks to learn her part as a marquise. It is the best joke I ever heard--a joke on her, and on my cousin the Marquis, and on all of us!”
“I left it all to him,” said Diane, bursting into tears. “I could not find fault with him when he was doing me the greatest honor in the world, and he a marquis. And then,” she continued, recovering herself and speaking boldly, “I am as good as twelve men and a boy, anyhow to take care of myself.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” broke in Madame Grandin, cheerfully. “Marquises have their own way of doing things quite different from people like ourselves. The thing is, now, to get some one in Diane’s place and rehearse her so she can appear this night three weeks.”
At that Diane wept afresh. There was a strange shock in the thought of some one else in her place; she began to realize the tremendous dislocation of her life which was coming. This feeling grew upon her as she entered the little music hall, and she acted her part with extraordinary power, born of her beating heart, the tension of her soul.
When the performance was over, and she was putting on her hat in the little canvas den, she found herself trembling and weeping a little, and called to Jean in the next den, and he came to her.