To have a Duke fighting a duel about her was far beyond the wildest dreams of snobbishness.

She chuckled again and again, and once she clapped her hands and laughed aloud.
"He's fighting a swordsman of the first class--an invincible swordsman--you said so yourself," Sonia muttered in a tone of anguish.
"And there's nothing to be done--nothing." She pressed her hands to her eyes as if to shut out a hideous vision.
Germaine did not hear her; she was staring at herself in a mirror, and bridling to her own image.
Sonia tottered to the window and stared down at the road along which must come the tidings of weal or irremediable woe.

She kept passing her hand over her eyes as if to clear their vision.
Suddenly she started, and bent forward, rigid, all her being concentrated in the effort to see.
Then she cried: "Mademoiselle Germaine! Look! Look!" "What is it ?" said Germaine, coming to her side.
"A horseman! Look! There!" said Sonia, waving a hand towards the road.
"Yes; and isn't he galloping!" said Germaine.
"It's he! It's the Duke!" cried Sonia.
"Do you think so ?" said Germaine doubtfully.
"I'm sure of it--sure!" "Well, he gets here just in time for tea," said Germaine in a tone of extreme satisfaction.

"He knows that I hate to be kept waiting.

He said to me, 'I shall be back by five at the latest.' And here he is." "It's impossible," said Sonia.