As for the
Duchess, Montriveau's behaviour had excited her curiosity to such
a pitch that she scarcely rose to return her director's low bow.
"What is the matter with you, my friend?"
"Why, I cannot stomach that Abbe of yours."
"Why did you not take a book?" she asked, careless whether the
Abbe, then closing the door, heard her or no.
The General paused, for the gesture which accompanied the
Duchess's speech further increased the exceeding insolence of her
words.
"My dear Antoinette, thank you for giving love precedence of the
Church; but, for pity's sake, allow me to ask one question."
"Oh! you are questioning me! I am quite willing. You are my
friend, are you not? I certainly can open the bottom of my heart
to you; you will see only one image there."
"Do you talk about our love to that man?"
"He is my confessor."
"Does he know that I love you?"
"M. de Montriveau, you cannot claim, I think, to penetrate the
secrets of the confessional?"
"Does that man know all about our quarrels and my love for
you?"
"That man, monsieur; say God!"
"God again! _I_ ought to be alone in your heart. But leave God
alone where He is, for the love of God and me. Madame, you _shall
not_ go to confession again, or----"
"Or?" she repeated sweetly.
"Or I will never come back here."
"Then go, Armand. Good-bye, good-bye forever."
She rose and went to her boudoir without so much as a glance at
Armand, as he stood with his hand on the back of a chair.
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