Madame looked at him with a start of alarm.
“The Revolutionists?” she repeated. “It was they who sent the message? But why? What was their object? Ah, I know,” she added with sudden conviction. “It was to deprive the Vendéans of your sword, in order that they might be defeated.”
M. le Comte smiled as he looked down into her fond, admiring eyes.
“Ah, my dear,” he said, “my sword is not so powerful as that. The Vendéans will win their battles just the same without me. I think the message was merely the bait for a trap——”
“From which you have escaped!” she cried triumphantly, and clapped her hands.
“Yes,” he agreed; but there was still in his face a certain anxiety which she perceived.
“What is it, Henri?” she demanded. “You are not now in danger?”
He threw off his preoccupation with a laugh of genuine amusement.
“In danger?” he repeated. “No—or at least the only danger to which I am exposed at this moment, madame, is that of falling in love with you more violently than ever.”
“For shame, sir!” she cried, blushing like a girl. “You forget that we are not alone.”