"Tell me," I said. "How did you know I kissed her, that night?"
"I saw it."
"The Dev—! Oh!" I exclaimed. I was brave no longer. I got interested in the opera. Presently, I ventured to glance at Dehra—she was laughing behind her fan. Then I ventured again.
"I hope," said I, "I did it nicely."
"Most artistically, my dear Armand. Escamillo, yonder, could not do it more cleverly."
I winced. It is not especially flattering to an Archduke to be classed with a toreador—and Carmen's toreador, least of all. Yet, I recognized the justice of the punishment. Bravery had failed twice; it was time to be humble.
"I am sorry, Dehra," I said.
"Of course you are, sir, very sorry—that I saw you.—And so was I," she added.
"Was?" I echoed.
"It gave me un mauvais quart d'heure."