"Paul Hewlett," he said, with genuine admiration, "you are as good as a play. My friend, it would have paid you to have accepted my own offer. However, you declined it and I shall not renew it. Well, let us take your check, and it shall be accepted in full settlement." He winked at me and thrust his tongue into his cheek.
I was too sick at heart to pay attention to his buffoonery. I sat down at the table and, taking up a pen which lay there, wrote a check for eight thousand dollars, making it out to Jacqueline d'Epernay. This I handed to her.
"Adieu, madame," I said.
"Adieu, monsieur," she answered almost inaudibly, her head bent low.
I went out of the room, still gripping my pistol, and I took care to let Simon see it as we descended the stairs side by side. The noisy laughter in the ballroom had ceased, but I heard Raoul and Jean Petitjean quarrelling, and their thick voices told me that they were in no condition to aid their master.
Then there were only Leroux and Philippe Lacroix to deal with. I could have saved the situation.
What a fool I had been! What an irresolute fool! I never learned.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs Philippe Lacroix came out of the ballroom carrying a candle. I saw his melancholy, pale face twist with surprise as he perceived me.
"Philippe, this is M. Paul Hewlett," said Leroux. "To-morrow you will convey him to the cabin of Père Antoine, where he will be able to make his own plans. You will go by way of le Vieil Ange."
Lacroix started violently, muttered something, and passed up the stairs, often turning to stare, as I surmised from the brief occasions of his footsteps.