“Exciting, Monsieur?”
He laughed brutally.
“Certainly; I said exciting.”
She answered him very coldly:
“I have never thought about the question.”
“Naturally—you leave others to think. Your friends, for instance. Pray count me among the number.”
The very suggestion was an insult—a subtle insult; but she realised that in some way this man shared a secret momentous to her happiness, and she restrained her just resentment.
“You were my husband’s friend, Monsieur Gatelet; I am sure you are mine.”
“Do not doubt it. It is pleasant to see the faces one knows when so many are missing. I think often of our old acquaintances—of Tripard, and Giraud, and Chandellier, and the Englishman. Ah, you remember the Englishman, Brandon North, Madame?”