I repeat my excuses;
pray let us go in."
Trudaine made no reply to this curious explanation. He wondered
at it a little, however, and he wondered still more when, on
entering the drawing-room, he saw Lomaque walk straight up to his
sister, and--apparently not noticing that Danville was sitting at
the harpsichord and singing at the time--address her confusedly
and earnestly with a set speech of thanks for his hot cup of
coffee. Rose looked perplexed, and half inclined to laugh, as she
listened to him. Madame Danville, who sat by her side, frowned,
and tapped the land-steward contemptuously on the arm with her
fan.
"Be so good as to keep silent until my son has done singing," she
said. Lomaque made a low bow, and retiring to a table in a
corner, took up a newspaper lying on it. If Madame Danville had
seen the expression that came over his face when he turned away
from her, proud as she was, her aristocratic composure might
possibly have been a little ruffled.
Danville had finished his song, had quitted the harpsichord, and
was talking in whispers to his bride; Madame Danville was adding
a word to the conversation every now and then; Trudaine was
seated apart at the far end of the room, thoughtfully reading a
letter which he had taken from his pocket, when an exclamation
from Lomaque, who was still engaged with the newspaper, caused
all the other occupants of the apartment to suspend their
employments and look up.
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