But of all this that she craved to know, nothing could she bring herself to ask before the Marquise.
She rose in silence upon hearing the Dowager order Fortunio to summon Battista that he might re-conduct mademoiselle to her apartments, and she moved a few paces down the hall, towards the door, in proud, submissive readiness to depart.

Yet she could not keep her eyes from the dust-stained courier, who, having flung his hat and whip upon the floor, was now opening his wallet, the Dowager standing before him to receive his papers.
Marius, affecting an insouciance he did not feel, remained at table, his page behind his chair, his hound stretched at his feet; and he now sipped his wine, now held it to the light that he might observe the beauty of its deep red colour.
At last Fortunio returned, and mademoiselle took her departure, head in the air and outwardly seeming nowise concerned in what was taking place.
With her went Fortunio.

And the Marquise, who now held the package she had received from the courier, bade the page depart also.
When the three were at last alone, she paused before opening the letter and turned again to the messenger.

She made a brave figure in the flood of sunlight that poured through the gules and azures of the long blazoned windows, her tall, lissome figure clad in a close-fitting robe of black velvet, her abundant glossy black hair rolled back under its white coif, her black eyes and scarlet lips detaching from the ivory of her face, in which no trace of emotion showed, for all the anxiety that consumed her.
"Where left you the Marquis de Condillac ?" she asked the fellow.
"At La Rochette, madame," the courier answered,' and his answer brought Marius to his feet with an oath.
"So near ?" he cried out.

But the Dowager's glance remained calm and untroubled.
"How does it happen that he did not hasten himself, to Condillac ?" she asked.
"I do not know, madame.