“Dead? Oh, how unhappy you must have been!” said Sonia. “Oh, don’t speak of it! For six months I daren’t put on a light frock,” said Germaine, turning to her. “A lot she must have cared for him,” whispered Jeanne to Marie. “Fortunately, one fine day, the letters began again. Three months ago a telegram informed us that he was coming back; and at last the Duke returned,” said Germaine, with a theatrical air. “The Duke returned,” cried Jeanne, mimicking her. “Never mind. Fancy waiting nearly seven years for one’s fiance. That was constancy,” said Sonia. “Oh, you’re a sentimentalist, Mlle. Kritchnoff,” said Jeanne, in a tone of mockery. “It was the influence of the castle.” “What do you mean?” said Germaine. “Oh, to own the castle of Charmerace and call oneself Mlle. Gournay-Martin—it’s not worth doing. One MUST become a duchess,” said Jeanne. “Yes, yes; and for all this wonderful constancy, seven years of it, Germaine was on the point of becoming engaged to another man,” said Marie, smiling. “And he a mere baron,” said Jeanne, laughing. “What? Is that true?” said Sonia. “Didn’t you know, Mlle. Kritchnoff? She nearly became engaged to the Duke’s cousin, the Baron de Relzières. It was not nearly so grand.” “Oh, it’s all very well to laugh at me; but being the cousin and heir of the Duke, Relzières would have assumed the title, and I should have been Duchess just the same,” said Germaine triumphantly. “Evidently that was all that mattered,” said Jeanne. “Well, dear, I must be off. We’ve promised to run in to see the Comtesse de Grosjean. You know the Comtesse de Grosjean?” She spoke with an air of careless pride, and rose to go. “Only by name. Papa used to know her husband on the Stock Exchange when he was still called simply M. Grosjean. For his part, papa preferred to keep his name intact,” said Germaine, with quiet pride. “Intact? That’s one way of looking at it. Well, then, I’ll see you in Paris. You still intend to start to-morrow?” said Jeanne. “Yes; to-morrow morning,” said Germaine. Jeanne and Marie slipped on their dust-coats to the accompaniment of chattering and kissing, and went out of the room. As she closed the door on them, Germaine turned to Sonia, and said: “I do hate those two girls! They’re such horrible snobs.” “Oh, they’re good-natured enough,” said Sonia. “Good-natured? Why, you idiot, they’re just bursting with envy of me—bursting!” said Germaine. “Well, they’ve every reason to be,” she added confidently, surveying herself in a Venetian mirror with a petted child’s self-content. CHAPTER II THE COMING OF THE CHAROLAIS