"Is that note properly directed? To Madame de la Mora?"
"It is, but—"
"Have you any explanation, sir, to offer?"
For the life of me I could think of nothing to say; I could not tell him the truth, neither could I lie to him with grace. So I simply said:
"It was not her fault," probably the worst remark I could have made.
"Then, this note is true? You did meet my wife by appointment in the ruined chapel at Sceaux?"
"No, by my honor, there was no appointment; I came upon her by chance, and through no consent of hers."
"And so you presumed to meet my wife in a lonely place—which she denies to me upon her honor, as you now swear; you were there 'hot, impulsive and hasty' which this honorable missive of yours craves pardon for. Now you seek another private interview which you say you can not live without?"
I nodded moodily, wishing only to have the matter over, and avoid his further questioning.
"By my soul, Captain, I am rejoiced to find you so frank—rejoiced that you do not lie. The other, God knows, is bad enough."