“Captain Monroe could not possibly forget the honor of such acquaintance,” retorted Monroe; “he only refused to answer.”
The two men met each other’s eyes for an instant––a glance like the crossing of swords. Then McVeigh said:
“Where did you get the picture found on your person last night?”
“Stole it,” said Monroe, calmly, and McVeigh flushed in 379 quick anger at the evident lie and the insolence of it; he was lying then to shield this woman who stood between them––to shield her from her husband.
“Madame Caron,” and she had never before heard him speak in that tone; “did you ever give Captain Monroe a picture of yourself?”
“Never!” she said, wonderingly. Margeret had taken a step forward and stood irresolutely as though about to speak; she was very pale, and Monroe knew in an instant who she was––not by the picture, but from Pluto’s story last night. The terror in her eyes touched him, and as McVeigh lifted the picture from the table, he spoke.
“Colonel McVeigh, I will ask you to study that picture carefully before you take for granted that it is the face of any one you know,” he said, quietly; “that picture was made probably twenty years ago.”
“And the woman?”
“The woman is dead––died long ago.” Margeret’s eyes closed for an instant, but none of them noticed her. Judithe regarded Monroe, questioningly, and then turned to McVeigh:
“May I not see this picture you speak of, since––”