"Does Claire remain upstairs ?" Appeal--amusement--fright--shame--triumph--chased one another across the eyes of Mme.

de Saint-Maclou: each made so swift an appearance, so swift an exit, that they seemed to blend in some peculiar personal emotion proper to the duchess and to no other woman born.

And she bit the handkerchief harder than ever.

For the life of me I couldn't help it; I began to laugh; the duchess' face disappeared altogether behind the handkerchief.
"Do you mean to say Claire's not here ?" cried Gustave, turning on her swiftly and accusingly.
The head behind the handkerchief was shaken, first timidly, then more emphatically, and a stifled voice vouchsafed the news: "She left three days ago." Gustave and I looked at one another.

There was a pause.