He has something important to say to Madame, and we
are in the way. Come along, AEneas, follow your faithful Achates;
Thalia has a rehearsal."
Fitzgerald thrust his pipe into a pocket. "Good night, Madame,"
he said diffidently; "and you, countess."
"Good night, Colonel," sang out Maurice over his shoulder, and
together the pair climbed the stairs.
Fitzgerald was at a loss how to begin, for something told him
that Maurice would demand an explanation, though the affair was
none of his concern. He filled his pipe, fired it and tramped
about the room. Sometimes he picked up the end of a window
curtain and felt of it; sometimes he posed before one of the
landscape oils.
"You have something on your mind," said Maurice, pulling off his
hussar jacket and kicking it across the room.
"Madame has promised to be my wife."
"And the conditions?" curtly.
Fitzgerald pondered over the other's lack of surprise. "What
would you do if you loved a woman and she promised to be your
wife?"
"I'd marry her," sitting down at the table.
"What would you do in my place, and Madame had promised to marry
you?" puffing quickly.
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