There was a sort of leery jubilance in her manner, sufficiently significant in the context of late forebodings. He looked at her stupidly. “I do not understand,” he said. “What!” she cried. “You have not heard?” “Heard what? I have been absent all day.” “And no advice has reached this amorous proxy from his indulgent principal? Eh well, monsieur! Wonders will never cease. It was for us to suppose that your periodical reports to the archduke were lately of such a favourable nature as to decide his Highness upon thus bringing matters to a head. And he has not informed you of his decision?” “No, madame.” “That I, then, should be the first to enlighten you!” “If you please, madame.” “It is only, monsieur, that her Imperial Majesty has despatched an ambassador to Parma to request for her son Joseph the hand of the Infanta. Such, you may consider if you like, is the fruit of your fond advocacy.” If he was staggered, he took the blow standing and like a soldier. No hint of what he felt must betray itself here. Even the old lady was half imposed upon by his manner. “And her Highness herself?” he said, in a voice whose very desperation lent it coolness. “She is reconciled?” “Hoity-toity!” cried the marquise. “A fine expression to apply to her.” “Else,” said the chevalier, “why should _I_ be here?” “Well,” answered madame: “that is true enough; but it was not diplomatic. Judged by the alacrity with which she obeyed her father’s summons to court, I should say she was very well reconciled indeed.” “She has gone to Parma?” “To receive the betrothal ring, monsieur. And so your task is ended. Henceforth, so long as you favour us with your company here, you are free to command your own time and your own inclinations. I can appreciate, believe me, the relief it will be to us all.” CHAPTER XVI. FAST BIND, FAST FIND It was a very impressive ceremony, this betrothal by ring--conventual, almost sacramental in its character. The ambassador’s face had been flushed, his voice hushed, as he had presented this visible symbol of what was to him but something less than a hypostatic union, in which he himself modestly represented the third figure in the trinity. Whereafter, not as bride of Christ, but of Christ’s more confident vicegerent, the heir of Austria, stood Isabella, pledged by token of the shining gem half slipping from her listless finger. The words were spoken, the gage hung there in witness of their numbing actuality; she was left alone with the duke her father. Its first heat of transport had faded from Don Philip’s cheek, and been succeeded by a rather rigid pallor, a look of hardness, both furtive and resentful. He uttered a little sardonic laugh--the most extreme expression of humour to be allowed himself by an Infant of Spain--and, pacing an aimless step or two, turned with a sudden violence on his child. “Well?” he barked. She shook her hand; and the ring dropped from it--fell and bounded on the carpet.