It was from Coralie—.
"I am here, cher Ami—I am rather in a difficulty—Can I come to your sitting-room?"
I scribbled "of course"—and in a moment she came—seductive and distressful. Duquesnois had been recalled to the front suddenly—her husband would be back on the morrow—. Might she stay and have some St. Galmier water with me—could we ring the bell and order it, so that the waiter might see her there?—because if the husband asked anything—he could be sure it was only the much wounded Englishman, and he would not mind—!!
I was sympathetic!—the St. Galmier came.
Coralie did not seem in a hurry to drink it, she sat by the fire and talked, and looked at me with her rather small expressive eyes—and suddenly I realized that it was not to save any situation that even a complacent and much-tried war-husband might object to, but just to talk to me alone—!!
She put forth every charm she possessed for half an hour—I led her on—watching each move with interest and playing right cards in return. Coralie is very well born and never could be vulgar or blatant, so it was all entertaining for me. This is the first time she has had the chance of being quite alone. We fenced—I showed enough empressement not to discourage her too soon—and then I allowed myself to be natural, which was being completely indifferent—and it worked its usual charm!
Coralie grew restless—she got up from the sofa she stood by the fire—she came at last quite close up to my chair—.
"What is there about you, Nicholas," she cooed, "which makes one forget that you are wounded—. When I saw you even in the parc—with that demoiselle I felt—that—"—She looked down with a sigh—.
"How hard upon Duquesnois, Coralie! a good-looking, whole man!"
"I have tired of him, Mon ami—he loves me too much—the affair has become tame—."