de Saint-Maclou ?" She drew back as if I had struck her.

And I felt as though I had struck her.

She looked at me for a moment with parted lips; then, without a word or a sign, she turned and walked slowly away in the direction of the hotel.
And I, glad to have something else to occupy my thoughts, started at a brisk pace along the foot-path that runs down the hill and meets the road which would lead me to the convent, for I had a thing or two to say to the duchess.

And yet it was not of the duchess only that I thought as I went.
There were also in my mind the indignant pride with which Marie Delhasse had questioned me, and the shrinking shame in her eyes at that counter-question of mine.

The Duke of Saint-Maclou's invitation seemed to bring as much disquiet to one of his guests as it had to his wife herself.
But one thing struck me, and I found a sort of comfort in it: she had thought, it seemed, that the duchess was to be at home.
"Pah!" I cried suddenly to myself.