“I think, Mr. Lamb, that in better society than that of the Faubourg Montmartre you are known under another name.” Graham had no heart then for the stage-play of a part, and answered, with quiet haughtiness, “Possibly—and what name?”
“Graham Vane. And, sir,” continued Lebeau, with a haughtiness equally quiet, but somewhat more menacing, “since we two gentlemen find ourselves thus close, do I ask too much if I inquire why you condescend to seek my acquaintance in disguise?”
“Monsieur le Vicomte de Mauleon, when you talk of disguise, is it too much to inquire why my acquaintance was accepted by Monsieur Lebeau?”
“Ha! Then you confess that it was Victor de Mauleon whom you sought when you first visited the cafe Jean Jacques?”
“Frankly I confess it.”
Monsieur Lebeau drew himself back, and seemed to reflect.
“I see! Solely for the purpose of learning whether Victor de Mauleon could give you any information about Louise Duval. Is it so?”
“Monsieur le Vicomte, you say truly.”
Again M. Lebeau paused as if in reflection; and Graham, in that state of mind when a man who may most despise and detest the practice of duelling, may yet feel a thrill of delight if some homicide would be good enough to put him out of his misery, flung aside his cap, lifted his broad frank forehead, and stamped his foot impatiently as if to provoke a quarrel.
M. Lebeau lowered his spectacles, and, with those calm, keen, searching eyes of his, gazed at the Englishman.