“Monsieur should not hurry,” he said in his purring voice. “I am sure he will not hurry, for I wish to talk with him more.”
The man saw the revolver in Frank’s hand, but he seemed to heed it very little. Merry leaned against the door, crossing his feet. He was quite as cool as the Frenchman.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said. “I had thought to keep an engagement, but it is rather late, and it will make little difference if I do not appear. I shall make an excuse that I was in very detaining company.”
“Monsieur is skilful in the use of words, and he speaks French beautifully. One might almost believe him a Frenchman, from listening to his language. Won’t you sit down?”
The man motioned toward a chair near the table, on which stood the lamp, bowing politely.
“After you, monsieur,” said the American youth, with equal politeness, indicating another chair. “I do not like to sit with my back toward the door, for doors unexpectedly opened sometimes admit dangerous drafts.”
“It will not be politeness for me, as your host, to be seated first,” protested the man.
“Perhaps we had better disregard the matter of form on this occasion. There are times when it is not well to be too conventional. I pray you be seated first.”
“Very well; but I ask your pardon, in advance, for the breach.”
The man started to sit down.