"By my carelessness," I answered, "I have done Alphonse Giraud a great injury—I have practically ruined him. Surely the least I can do is to attempt to recover for him that which he has lost."
Madame de Clericy was of course engaged in needlework. I never saw her fingers idle. It appeared that at this moment she had a difficult stitch to execute.
"One never knows," she said, without looking up, "what is the least or the most that men can do. We women look at things in a different light, and therefore cannot say what is right or what is wrong; it is better that men should judge for themselves."
"Yes," I said.
"Of course," said Madame de Clericy quietly, "if you recover Alphonse's fortune you will earn his gratitude, for without it the Vicomte would never recognise his pretensions to Lucille's hand."
"Of course," I answered; and Madame's clever eyes were lifted to my face for a moment.
"You think it the least you can do?"
"I do," said I. "Can you tell me if Alphonse Giraud is in this house?"
MADAME LOOKED AT ME AGAIN. AND I MADE MY INQUIRIES ELSEWHERE.