Their father stood near the window. He
was looking out with thoughtful eyes. His face was drawn downwards
by a hundred fine wrinkles. It was the face of one brooding over a
sorrow or a vengeance. There was something in his whole being
suggestive of a bygone prosperity. This was a lean man who had once
been well-seeming.
"No!" said Desiree gaily, "we were a dull company. We need not
disguise it. It all came from that man crossing our path in his
dusty carriage."
"He is on his way to Russia," Sebastian said jerkily. "God spare me
to see him return!"
Desiree and Mathilde exchanged a glance of uneasiness. It seemed
that their father was subject to certain humours which they had
reason to dread. Desiree left her occupation and went to him,
linking her arm in his and standing beside him.
"Do not let us think of disagreeable things to-day," she said. "God
will spare you much longer than that, you depressing old wedding-
guest!"
He patted her hand which rested on his arm and looked down at her
with eyes softened by affection. But her fair hair, rather tumbled,
which met his glance must have awakened some memory that made his
face a marble mask again.
"Yes," he said grimly, "but I am an old man and he is a young one.
And I want to see him dead before I die."
"I will not have you think such bloodthirsty thoughts on my wedding-
day," said Desiree. "See, there is Charles returning already, and
he has not been absent ten minutes.
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