"And if it were a disease and catching?" he remarked presently.
"Then you would not be here," she replied. "You see, I'd run too much risk. As it is—have some more wine?—But who understands love better than a woman, monsieur?"
"Oh, I surrender, mademoiselle,—that is, provided she has loved and loves no longer."
"Been sick and been cured, eh?" she suggested. "But that is more than you require of the medical profession."
"True——"
He paused and listened. She turned her head at the same moment. There were two distinct raps on the wall. He had heard, vaguely, the sound of persons coming and going next door; had distinguished voices in the next flat. There was nothing strange about that. But the knock was the knock of design and at once arrested his attention.
The young girl started to her feet, her finger on her lips.
"He wants me," she said.
"That is evident, whoever 'he' may be," replied Jean, significantly.
"Oh, it is only Monsieur de Beauchamp. A sitting, perhaps," she added.