“But must you see him?” he persisted.
“At the earliest moment.”
He waved his hand with a gesture of despair and stood for a little time, his head bent in thought.
“M. de Marsan,” he began at last, “I fear we have done you ill service by calling you here to-day——”
But I stopped him before he could say more.
“Ill service!” I cried. “Ill service to give my sword a chance at three consummate scoundrels, and me an opportunity of meeting Mademoiselle! Do me a thousand such ill services, Monsieur!”
His was a merry spirit when no danger threatened, and I saw a jest spring to life in his eyes.
“A chance to meet a thousand pretty girls?” he asked.
But he was not to catch me so.
“On the contrary, a thousand chances to meet Mademoiselle,” I answered boldly, though the boldness was no deeper than the lips, and from the corner of my eye I saw the girl blush hotly.