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But
coming now, after her imagination had woven for him so magnificent a
background, after the rashly assumed discovery of his splendid
identity had made her the envied of all the company, after having
been in her own eyes and theirs enshrined by marriage with him as a
great lady, this disclosure crushed and humiliated her. Her prince
in disguise was merely the outcast bastard of a country gentleman!
She would be the laughing-stock of every member of her father's
troupe, of all those who had so lately envied her this romantic good
fortune.
"You should have told me this before," she said, in a dull voice
that she strove to render steady.
"Perhaps I should. But does it really matter?"
"Matter?" She suppressed her fury to ask another question. "You
say that this M. de Kercadiou is popularly believed to be your
father. What precisely do you mean?"
"Just that. It is a belief that I do not share. It is a matter of
instinct, perhaps, with me. Moreover, once I asked M. de Kercadiou
point-blank, and I received from him a denial.


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