“That will not suit me in the least,” said the Countess with surprise. “I will be a party to no suit; you know why.”
“By the third clause,” Derville went on, with imperturbable coolness, “you pledge yourself to secure to Hyacinthe Comte Chabert an income of twenty-four thousand francs on government stock held in his name, to revert to you at his death—”
“But it is much too dear!” exclaimed the Countess.
“Can you compromise the matter cheaper?”
“Possibly.”
“But what do you want, madame?”
“I want—I will not have a lawsuit. I want—”
“You want him to remain dead?” said Derville, interrupting her hastily.
“Monsieur,” said the Countess, “if twenty-four thousand francs a year are necessary, we will go to law—”
“Yes, we will go to law,” said the Colonel in a deep voice, as he opened the door and stood before his wife, with one hand in his waistcoat and the other hanging by his side—an attitude to which the recollection of his adventure gave horrible significance.