“Invite him home, and he will vow it was to see you,” said the artist.
“I mean to,” she retorted; “but do not judge all men by yourself, Monsieur Loris, for I suspect Lieutenant McVeigh has a conscience.”
“I have,” he acknowledged, “too much of one to take advantage of your invitation. Some day, when you are not tired from the crowds, I shall come, if you will allow me.”
“No, no; come now!” insisted the Countess, impulsively; “you will rest me; I assure you it is true! We have been with women––women all morning! So take pity on us. 93 We want to hear all about the battle grounds and fortresses you were to inspect. The Marquise, especially, is a lover of wars.”
“And of warriors?” queried Dumaresque; but the Countess paid no attention to him.
“Yes, she is really a revolutionist, Monsieur; so come and enlighten us as to the latest methods of those amiable patriots.”
The Marquise had given him a gracious little bow, and had politely shown interest in their remarks to such an extent that the Countess did not notice her silence. But during the brief glance she noticed that the blue eyes had dark circles under them, but they were steady for all that. He looked tired, but he also looked more the master of himself than when they last met; she need fear no further pleading.
The Countess prevailed, and he entered the carriage. Dumaresque was also invited, but was on some committee of arrangements and could not leave.
As they were about to drive away the Marquise called him.
“Oh, Monsieur Loris, one moment! I want the black and white sketch of your Kora. Pray have it bid in for me.”