“I am glad you have come back to me,” she said, smiling. “I warn you that I am inquisitive; therefore you must not get tired of my questions. Tell me, in the first place, who is that worthy in a green cloth jacket?”
“That is the famous Major Brigaut, a man from the Marais, a comrade of the late Mercier, called La Vendee.”
“And that fat priest with the red face to whom he is talking at this moment about me?” she went on.
“Do you want to know what they are saying?”
“Do I want to know it? What a useless question!”
“But I could not tell it without offending you.”
“If you allow me to be insulted in your house without avenging me, marquis, adieu!” she said. “I will not stay another moment. I have some qualms already about deceiving these poor Republicans, loyal and confiding as they are!”
She made a few hasty steps; the marquis followed her.
“Dear Marie, listen to me. On my honor, I have silenced their evil speaking, without knowing whether it was false or true. But, placed as I am, if friends whom we have in all the ministries in Paris warn me to beware of every woman I meet, and assure me that Fouche has employed against me a Judith of the streets, it is not unnatural that my best friends here should think you too beautiful to be an honest woman.”
As he spoke the marquis plunged a glance into Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s eyes. She colored, and was unable to restrain her tears.