Yonder at his post lounged the recruit "Battista," looking a trifle cleaner than when first he had been presented to the Marquise, but still not clean enough for a lady's antechamber.

He was leaning stolidly against the sill of the window, his eyes on the distant waters of the Isere, which shone a dull copper colour in the afterglow of the October sunset.
His face was vacant, his eyes pensive, as he stood there undisturbed by the flow of a language he did not understand.
Fortunio and Marius had departed, and the Marquise--played upon by her unusual tremors--had remained behind for a last word with the obstinate girl.
"In what, madame," asked Valerie, "does my conduct fall short of reasonableness ?" The Dowager made a movement of impatience.

If at every step she were to be confronted by these questions, which had in them a savour of challenge, she was wasting time in remaining.
"You are unreasonable, in this foolish clinging to a promise given for you." "Given by me, madame," the girl amended, knowing well to what promise the Dowager referred.
"Given by you, then; but given at an age when you could not understand the nature of it.

They had no right to bind you so." "If it is for any to question that right, it is for me," Valerie made answer, her eyes ever meeting the Dowager's unflinchingly.

"And I am content to leave that right unquestioned.