His thoughts were of a quality that defied polite utterance.
"That I did not what, Monsieur ?" she asked.
"I trust you remembered that you are to become the Vicomtesse d'Ombreval" he answered, constructing his sentence differently.
"Monsieur!" exclaimed Bellecour angrily.
"I was chiefly mindful of the fact that I had my brother's life to save," said the girl, very coldly, her eye resting upon her betrothed in a glance of so much contempt that it forced him into an abashed silence.
In her mind she was contrasting this supercilious, vacillating weakling with the stern, strong man who lode yonder.

A sigh fluttered across her lips.

Had things but been different.

Had Ombreval been the Revolutionist and La Boulaye the Vicomte, how much better pleased might she not have been.

But since it was not so, why sigh?
It was not as if she had loved this La Boulaye.