“I had come to warn Monsieur Valmond once again, but I find him with his ally, counsellor—and comforter,” he retorted, with perilous suggestion.
Time would move on, and Madame Chalice might forget that wild remark, but she never would forgive it, and she never wished to do so. The insolent, petty, provincial Seigneur!
“Monsieur De la Riviere,” she returned, with cold dignity, “you cannot live long enough to atone for that impertinence.”
“I beg your pardon, madame,” he returned earnestly, awed by the look in her face; for she was thoroughly aroused. “I came to stop a filibustering expedition, to save the credit of the place where I was born, where my people have lived for generations.”
She made a quick, deprecatory gesture. “You saw me enter here,” she said, “and you thought to discover treason of some kind—Heaven knows what a mind like yours may imagine! You find me giving better counsel to His Highness than you could ever hope to give—out of a better heart and from a better understanding. You have been worse than intrusive; you have been rash and stupid. You call His Highness filibuster and impostor. I assure you it is my fondest hope that Prince Valmond Napoleon will ever count me among his friends, in spite of all his enemies.”
She turned her shoulder on him, and took Valmond’s hand with a pronounced obeisance, saying, “Adieu, sire” (she was never sorry she had said it), and passed from the room. Valmond was about to follow her.
“Thank you, no; I will go to my carriage alone,” she said, and he did not insist.
When she had gone he stood holding the door open, and looking at De la Riviere. He was very pale; there was a menacing fire in his eyes. The young Seigneur was ready for battle also.
“I am occupied, monsieur,” said Valmond meaningly.
“I have come to warn you—”