‘Do you remember that day I introduced her to you?’
Vandeloup bowed.
‘And you gave me your word of honour you would not try to turn her head,’ pursued Madame, looking at him; ‘have you kept your word?’
‘Madame,’ said Vandeloup, gravely, ‘I give you my word of honour that I have always treated Mlle Kitty as a child and your friend. I did not know that she had gone until I was told, and whatever happens to her, I can safely say that it was not Gaston Vandeloup’s fault.’
An admirable actor this man, not a feature of his face moved, not a single deviation from the calmness of his speech—not a quickening of the pulse, nor the rush of betraying blood to his fair face—no! Madame withdrew her eyes quite satisfied, M. Vandeloup was the soul of honour and was innocent of Kitty’s disgrace.
‘Thank God!’ she said, reverently, as she looked away, for she would have been bitterly disappointed to have found her kindness to this man repaid by base treachery towards her friend; ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I feel.’
M. Vandeloup withdrew his face into the darkness, and smiled in a devilish manner to himself. How these women believed—was there any lie too big for the sex to swallow? Evidently not—at least, so he thought. But now that Kitty was disposed of, he had to attend to his own private affairs, and put his hand in his pocket for the letter.
‘I wanted to speak to you on business, Madame,’ he said, taking out the letter; ‘the long-expected has come at last.’
‘You have heard from Paris?’ asked Madame, in an eager voice.
‘I have,’ answered the Frenchman, calmly; ‘I have now the letter in my hand, and as soon as Mlle Selina brings in the lights I will show it to you.’