Some men would have surrendered to the seductiveness of her voice; not so the vicomte.
"Scarcely, Madame," smiling.
"How am I to know that it is genuine? Allow me to glance at it?"
"And witness you tear it up, or … burn it like a love-letter?" shrewdly.
Madame stiffened in her chair.
"Have you ever burned a love-letter, Madame?" asked the vicomte.
Madame turned pale from rage and shame. The rage nearly overcame the fear and terror which she was so admirably concealing.
"Have you?" pitilessly.
"You … ?"
"Yes," intuitively. He touched the particles of burnt paper and laughed.