"We are quits; I forgive you
the broken arm; this laugh will repay me. How Madame the
countess will laugh! And Duckwitz--the General will die of
apoplexy! O, but you are a sorry ass; and how neatly we have
clipped your ears!" And into the corridor he went, still
laughing, heartily and joyously, as if what had taken place was
one of the finest jests in the world.
Maurice, white and furious, was positive that he never would
laugh again. And the most painful thought was that his honesty
had brought him to this pass--or, was it his curiosity?
* * * * *
Fitzgerald stood alone in the library. The music of a Strauss
waltz came indistinctly to him. He was troubled, and the speech
of it lay in his eyes. From time to time he drummed on the
window sill, and followed with his gaze the shadowy forms on the
lawns. He was not a part of this fairy scene. He was out of
place. So many young and beautiful women eyeing him curiously
confused him. In every glance he innocently read his disgrace.
At Madame's request he had dressed himself in the uniform of a
Lieutenant-Colonel, which showed how deeply he was in the toils.
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