"I've got to beat him, Piquette."
"Eh, bien! But remember, 'e is not a man to be easily vanquished. 'E is ver' quiet, ver' cool, le vrai gentilhomme, but 'e 'as sharp claws, Jeem 'Orton."
"A thief——"
"And de Vautrin?" she broke in. "Monsieur le Duc is no better dan he. He did not care 'ow 'e got de money."
Horton paced the room slowly, in deep abstraction, but in a moment stopped before her and caught her hands in his.
"Piquette," he said gravely, "you were in this thing—I don't know why or how, because a woman with a soul as big as yours oughtn't to be stooping to this kind of rottenness."
For a long while she made no reply, but she turned her head away and looked out of the window.
"I can't change de way I was born, Jeem 'Orton," she said quietly.
He was silent, aware of the false situation, and thinking deeply.
"I've got to tell her the truth, Piquette," he said at last.