Mademoiselle had moved forward, and touched his arm. He glanced at her quickly, and slowly his frown vanished.
"Naturally it is blank, captain," said Mademoiselle. "I took the real one from you this morning when you left it in your volume of Rabelais. I thought that you might place it there. I am sorry, captain, sorry now that you made me take you seriously."
The paper dropped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor, but strangely enough he did not appear chagrined. His gallantry was back with him again, and with it all his courtesy.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," he said, "I should have known you better. Will there always be a woman where there is trouble?"
"And you have not made me hate you, Captain," Mademoiselle continued.
"But you, my son," said my father, "you understand?"
I felt his glance, but I could not meet it.
"Yes," I said, "I understand."
"Good," said my father. "Here comes Brutus. And now we shall have our rum."
"I understand," I said, and my voice seemed unsteady, "that you are a very brave and upright gentleman."