“My mind is quite at rest about Relzières,” said Germaine. “He’s a first-class swordsman. No one could beat him.” Sonia did not seem to share her freedom from anxiety. Her forehead was puckered in little lines of perplexity, as if she were puzzling out some problem; and there was a look of something very like fear in her gentle eyes. “Wasn’t Relzières a great friend of your fiance at one time?” said Jeanne. “A great friend? I should think he was,” said Germaine. “Why, it was through Relzières that we got to know Jacques.” “Where was that?” said Marie. “Here—in this very château,” said Germaine. “Actually in his own house?” said Marie, in some surprise. “Yes; actually here. Isn’t life funny?” said Germaine. “If, a few months after his father’s death, Jacques had not found himself hard-up, and obliged to dispose of this château, to raise the money for his expedition to the South Pole; and if papa and I had not wanted an historic château; and lastly, if papa had not suffered from rheumatism, I should not be calling myself in a month from now the Duchess of Charmerace.” “Now what on earth has your father’s rheumatism got to do with your being Duchess of Charmerace?” cried Jeanne. “Everything,” said Germaine. “Papa was afraid that this château was damp. To prove to papa that he had nothing to fear, Jacques, en grand seigneur, offered him his hospitality, here, at Charmerace, for three weeks.” “That was truly ducal,” said Marie. “But he is always like that,” said Sonia. “Oh, he’s all right in that way, little as he cares about society,” said Germaine. “Well, by a miracle my father got cured of his rheumatism here. Jacques fell in love with me; papa made up his mind to buy the château; and I demanded the hand of Jacques in marriage.” “You did? But you were only sixteen then,” said Marie, with some surprise. “Yes; but even at sixteen a girl ought to know that a duke is a duke. I did,” said Germaine. “Then since Jacques was setting out for the South Pole, and papa considered me much too young to get married, I promised Jacques to wait for his return.” “Why, it was everything that’s romantic!” cried Marie. “Romantic? Oh, yes,” said Germaine; and she pouted. “But between ourselves, if I’d known that he was going to stay all that time at the South Pole—” “That’s true,” broke in Marie. “To go away for three years and stay away seven—at the end of the world.” “All Germaine’s beautiful youth,” said Jeanne, with her malicious smile. “Thanks!” said Germaine tartly. “Well, you ARE twenty-three. It’s the flower of one’s age,” said Jeanne. “Not quite twenty-three,” said Germaine hastily. “And look at the wretched luck I’ve had. The Duke falls ill and is treated at Montevideo. As soon as he recovers, since he’s the most obstinate person in the world, he resolves to go on with the expedition. He sets out; and for an age, without a word of warning, there’s no more news of him—no news of any kind. For six months, you know, we believed him dead.”