He was to stay in the house with them on Christmas night, because it was so cold for him to return to his home after dinner, and Sabine could not possibly spare him; she assured him he must be with them at every meal.
His wit was so apt, and with Madame Imogen's aid he kept the ball rolling as merrily as he could.

But he, no less than Henry, was conscious that all was not well.
And afterwards, as he went towards the village, he communed with himself, his kind heart torn with the deep-seated look of resignation in the eyes of his Dame d'Heronac.
"She is too young to be made to suffer it," he said, half aloud.

"The good God cannot ask so much, as a price for wilfulness; and if this man has grown as distasteful to her as her face seems to suggest, nothing but misery could come from their dual life." It was all very cruel to the Englishman, no doubt, but where was the wisdom of letting two people suffer?
Surely it was better to let only one pay the stakes, and if this thing went on, both would have equal unhappiness, and be tied together as two animals in a menagerie cage.
No gentleman should accept such a sacrifice.

If the Lord Fordyce did not realize for himself that something had changed things, it must be that he, Gaston d'Heronac, the Pere Anselme, must intervene.

It might be very fine and noble to stick to one's word, but it became quixotic if to do so could only bring misery to oneself and one's mate! The good priest stalked on to his _presbytere_, and then to his church, to see that all should be ready for _reveillon_ that night, and he was returning to the chateau to tea when he met Henry taking a walk.
After lunch Sabine had gone off with Moravia to Girolamo's nurseries, and Lord Fordyce had felt he must go out and get some air.