He made a little gesture of indifference.
“No harm will come to Edmond. I swear it on my honour. He has acted with little sense—but that is the habit of the French soldier. He is a good man at heart, and will love you none the less when this is over—”
“Promise me,” she exclaimed desperately, “you will not go to Laroche’s house to-morrow.”
“If I go, it will not be to make a fool of myself.”
“But he will kill you.”
“I must trust to the help of a befriending Providence. There will be some way out, and I shall find it. He must listen to me. He is listening to our friend Watts at this moment. Possibly there will be a method which does not occur to either of us at this moment. In any case, no harm will come to him.”
“But you—how can I leave you to the alternative? Oh, my God, if he should kill you, Brandon!”
He started and looked at her closely. She did not know that such words were sweeter than life to him. His voice was colder and discouraging when next he spoke.
“It will not come to that,” he said. “One man with a sword in his hand does not fight another with a medicine bottle. I am still half an invalid. Besides, is there no hope of common-sense?”