"How can you say that? Wasn't Monsieur de Cretteville killed? And Monsieur Lalanne?"
"That makes two cases. I implied that it happens sometimes—generally by inadvertence. But it isn't likely to do so in this instance—at least not to George. He's an excellent shot—and I believe it was to be pistols."
"Then it's true! Oh, my God, I know I shall lose him!"
Mrs. Eveleth flung her cane to the floor and dropped into a seat, leaning on the table and covering her face with her hands. For a minute she moaned harshly, but when she looked up her eyes were tearless.
"And this is my reward," she cried, "for the kindness I've shown you! After all, you are nothing but a wanton."
Diane kept her self-control, but she grew pale.
"That's odd," was all she permitted herself to say, delicately flicking the crumbs from her fingertips; "because it was to prove the contrary that George called Monsieur de Bienville out."
"Bienville! You've stooped to him?"
"Did I say so?" Diane asked, with a sudden significant lifting of the head.
"There's no need to say so. There must have been something—"