The Chevalier stared at him rather wildly. “Ah. what are you saying? It is hors de propos! You bring me news which kills me, and talk to me of the Grand Tour! It is entirely English, en effet! ”
“Well, what the deuce should it be?” said Freddy reasonably. “Just told you I don’t speak French!”
The Chevalier once more sank his head in his hands, saying with a bitter laugh; “Oh, you are without sensibility, you!”
“I may be without sensibility, but I’m dashed if I’d sit tearing my hair out when a man came to tell me Kit was in trouble!” retorted Freddy. “Much good that would do her!”
The Chevalier raised his head, and flung out his hands. “But can you not understand that I am without power? Never would that woman permit me to marry Olivia! Ah, do you imagine that I do not care, that I do not desire with all my heart to call her my own, to take her to France, far, far from such as her mother—that Gosford—that roué, your cousin?”
“Well, why the devil don’t you do it?” demanded Freddy. “Never saw such a fellow for making speeches!”
The Chevalier’s hands dropped. He sat staring at Freddy, as though thunderstruck. “Do it?” he repeated. “You would say—an enlevement! ”
Freddy sighed. “No, I wouldn’t. Keep telling you I don’t speak French.”
“Pardon. A—a flight—a—I do not know the word!”
“Daresay you mean an elopement,” said Freddy helpfully. “That’s it: carry her off to France before her mother finds her.”