“But that is assassination,” I gasped, at last.
The duchess looked at me coolly.
“Call it what you please, M. de Brancas,” she said.
“But, madame, it is something to which no gentleman could consent.”
“Do you presume to give me a lesson in honor, monsieur?” she demanded, haughtily, though still preserving the low tone in which the entire conversation had been conducted.
“Oh, madame,” I said, “you do not understand. Your standards of honor are different from those of a man. To a woman everything is permitted—almost everything, for even a woman will not break her word if she be honorable.”
“And what then, monsieur?” she asked, looking at me in astonishment.
“Simply this, madame,” and I gave her look for look: “I do not consent to this assassination.”
“You do not consent?” she hissed, her eyes blazing with anger. “And pray who asks you to consent, monsieur? I do not see that it is any concern of yours. Do you mean that you, who prate so prettily of honor, will betray me?”
“No, madame,” I answered, “I shall not betray you,—not even to save the regent from assassination. What you have told me in confidence I shall tell no one. Only I shall save the regent if I can.”