This being a mere statement, Bethune did not feel called upon to reply; and M. Châtelard, amazed at a silence which he, with subtlety, interpreted as hostile, was fain to exclaim:
"Is it possible you do not think so?"
"I do not feel myself competent to judge," said Raymond Bethune.
"My faith," thought the other, "we do not make great progress at this rate. Let us try something more intimate. At least, my young friend," he went on aloud, "you have, I trust, yourself no cause to be dissatisfied with his Excellency. Some little demand you made of him to-night, did you not? Some matter concerning career, advancement?"
"My career, my advancement, are quite independent of Sir Arthur Gerardine's influence."
M. Châtelard pondered; was there not certainly something more than British reserve in the almost resentful tone—some deep-lying grudge that it would be piquant to find out?
"Why, then," he cried, with much artful artlessness of candour. "Why, see how one can deceive one's self! Just now I would have sworn, from your attitude, despite your national phlegm, that you had solicited and been granted some personal favour."
"A personal favour, yes. Nothing connected with my service."
"A personal favour, hein?"
"If indeed you would reckon it a favour—a mere act of justice I regard it."