"She is a widow, young, beautiful, and rich. And this incriminating signature of hers,—what a fine thing it would be to hold over her head! She is a woman, and a woman is easily duped in all things save love."
D'Hérouville trembled. "You are forcing war."
"So be it," tranquilly. "I will make one compact with you; if I find the paper I will inform you. Will you accept a like?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, then, once in Paris, I will stake ten thousand livres against your tentative claims to madame's hand. We will play at vingt-et-un. That is true gambling, Monsieur, and you are a good judge."
"I pick up the gauntlet with pleasure, under all conditions. Besides, an idea has occurred to me. The paper may not be what we think it is. The man who killed De Brissac is not one to give up or throw away the rewards. Eh, Monsieur?"
"Perhaps he was pressed for time. His life perhaps depended upon his escape. He may have dropped the cloak," shrewdly, "and some friend found it and returned it to the Chevalier. A plausible supposition, as you will agree."
"You may tell me a lie," said D'Hérouville, thoughtfully.
"It would not be necessary, Monsieur le Comte," returned the vicomte, suggestively tapping his sword.