Hélène shrugged her shoulders. Ratoneau laughed.
"Does Monsieur de la Marinière expect to bring his son back with him?" he asked.
His tone was sneering, but Hélène did not notice it.
"I do not know, monsieur," she said. "But my cousin will come back. He has done nothing. He has been in no plots. The Emperor cannot punish an innocent man."
She looked up suddenly, cheered by repeating what Monsieur des Barres had told her. Her pathetic eyes met Ratoneau's for a moment; surely no one could be cruel enough to deny such facts as these. In the General's full gaze there was plenty of what was odious to her, but no real kindness or pity. She blushed as she thought: "How dares this man look at me so? He is nothing but the merest acquaintance. He is insupportable."
"If we were to go back into the ball-room, monsieur," she said gravely, beginning to move away. "My mother will be looking for me."
"No, mademoiselle," said Ratoneau, coolly, "I think not. Madame la Comtesse saw me take you this way."
He sat down on a sofa, spreading his broad left hand over the gilded sphinx of its arm. With his right hand he pointed to the place beside him.
"Sit down there," he said.
Hélène frowned with astonishment, caught her breath and looked round. There were two or three people at the other end of the room, but all strangers to her, and all passing out gradually; no one coming towards her, no one to rescue her from the extraordinary manners of this man.